Shore of Nightmares
by Jenthewarrior
Summary: When he suddenly finds himself thrust back in time to the island of Lian Yu, and pursued by the greatest enemy he has ever faced, Oliver Queen tries to rectify the mistakes of his past and forge a better future. He is faced with the devastating question: If he were allowed to start over, with everything he had learned since then, could he really change things? Title may change.
1. Beyond the Sea

**A/N: Hello and welcome to my Arrow fanfiction. In this story, Oliver Queen finds himself thrust backward in time by a mysterious stranger to stop his greatest enemy before it's too late. With all of the knowledge of the past, will he be able to save the future? The 'past' portion of this story takes place well after the end of Season 5, in a time when Star City is being terrorized by an unstoppable villain known only as the Juggernaut, while the 'present' portion of this story begins shortly after the sinking of the** _ **Queen's Gambit**_ **. Flashbacks work in this story like they do in the show, with the first part of the chapter being what is currently happening with Oliver, and the second part (if there is a flashback for that chapter) being what happened to Oliver before he was sent back in time. Both parts will tell their own stories, with the flashbacks elaborating on how and why he was sent back.**

 **I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it, and if you do, please leave a review or a comment so I know if this is a story worth telling.**

 **On another note, Oliver will face many daunting challenges and dangerous foes on his journey to put an end to his adversary, so this story comes with a T-rating for violence.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-Jenthewarrior**

 **XxX**

 **Chapter 1.**

 **Beyond the Sea.**

Cold water, rumbling thunder, and the smell and sound of death.

It woke him so suddenly that for a time he was sinking, falling, getting sucked sideways into the waves with no sense of time, no sense of direction, no sense of self.

He was deep down, looking up at the flashing surface, the way it writhed and shifted. He was getting closer, closer, closer, until the water broke around his face and he got a glimpse of the world around him. A twisting, hellish world of thrashing shadows, with a ferocious sky up above. Rain blanketed everything, stung his eyes, pelted his hair. Lightning struck out across the sky, slapping the water, giving shape to the sinking yacht in front of him, a behemoth on its side being drawn bodily into the sea.

 _The Queen's Gambit._

Voices were calling, "Oliver! Oliver!"

 _Here_! he wanted to scream, but the water was so cold his teeth chattered. He recognized the name, recognized the voice, but instead of giving him comfort it made him panic. _I have to find her. She was on the boat_. He groped at the black water, croaking, "Sara! Sara!" He shouted again and again, until his voice broke, "Sara!" Saltwater lunged down his throat like an icy lance, and even then, in a burning gurgle, he screamed, " _Sara_!"

He knew she was out there, and he had to find her. _Not this time. I'm not losing her again_. Flashes of her came before his eyes – blonde, beautiful, rising from his bed, swinging a silvery blade, intense blue eyes peering at him.

A hand reached out of the darkness, touching his shoulder.

He dodged away from it, not daring to look back. He knew what he would find floating behind him – a black and orange raft with two dead men inside. But Sara was still in the water.

His heart rocked along with the waves. He struck out again and again, throwing all of his strength into the inky mass. It was strength he should not have, the ghost of a warrior breathing life into his exhausted limbs. It was an adrenaline-fueled desperation.

Lightning struck the water again and he saw her.

Or that must have been her, a drenched, humanoid shape hunched over a broken board, surging ten feet in the air on a rippling wave.

"Sara!" he called, but his voice was drowned out by the rain, and overwhelmed by the thunder. As the wave carried her back down, the terrified girl became more than a shadow.

She looked right at him.

He rode a wave up several feet, stomach clenching as debris rushed past his legs, and when he came back down the board was empty.

A moment of dread, a split second to grieve, and then she was closer, reaching out for him, screaming as a wave swelled up between them and split them apart. Thunder went off like a gunshot in the night. _BOOM_. He reached out for her, but missed by a mile, and a wave capped over his head and thrust him underwater again.

He opened his eyes in the blackness, fear overriding the burning of the saltwater, and there was a light spinning down and down, further than he could imagine, until it was like a candle against the sky. It showed him that he was drifting in a vast, empty space. He panicked, clawing for the surface, but the wave was still turning him and he lost his sense of direction. Up or down, left or right, it was all the same. It was all the same cold, the same pressure, the same emptiness.

Finally, the surface found him, and she was there again. He grabbed at her before the waves could split them up again, dragging her toward him by her wrist. Sara made it to him this time, throwing her arms around his neck in a desperate embrace. He let her cling to his back, her hands weak on his shoulders, and she whispered his name, "Oliver," and tried to grasp what was happening, "What did we… where is the-?" – _BOOM_ – "Oliver!"

He put the last of himself into swimming, dedicating everything. Stroke after stroke, his arms screamed and cramped, his legs began to waver, his torso burned, his lungs choked on saltwater, his eyes felt more swollen, and the world became blurrier. His mind shifted from one absurd thought to the next, from pretty white sand beaches to slicing blades. He fixated on one line of thought, on one idea, to keep his head above water. _I'm not losing her again. I'm not going to die out here. I'm not losing her again. I'm not going to die out here._

 _BOOM_.

A vicious peal of thunder shook the water around him, and the voices came again,

"Oliver! Oliver!"

He was much closer this time. He wheeled toward them, clamping his eyes shut as a wave capped over his head. _I'm not going to die out here. I'm not going to die out here._

Oliver crashed blindly into something rubber, almost going under it as a wave rose up behind him. Sara vanished and he had no energy left to reach for her. He floated, limbs giving out, rolling through a wave like driftwood.

 _I'm not going to die out here._

Strong hands dug into his shirt, lifting him from the waves and dumping him in the raft. He hit the floor and flopped, gasping for air, shrinking back when lightning illuminated black clouds above them, and a resounding _BOOM_ following. He was rattled to the bone, shaking, aware of little beyond the storm and its terrible shrieking. Sara was there, sitting up, holding herself and trembling, her mouth opening like she was crying.

Someone took his face – _hard_ – and held him still. He blinked over and over to force the saltwater away before the face seemed familiar.

 _Dad_.

Robert Queen was dead, and so was the blurry man behind him. Gus. Oliver knew it. He _knew_ it. Memories flashed before his eyes, painting a disturbing picture – the raft, the gun, the _hunger_ , and a long, twisting shoreline that filled him with misery.

He gave himself over to the fear and threw his arms around his father, full of childish terror at the storm, at the sight of the yacht descending into the depths, at the memories that were haunting him. He felt trapped, a terrible blend between a little boy and a man, hardly able to understand how he had come to be here with his spine trembling the way it was.

His father, his _ghost_ , held Oliver tightly, and whispered, "Oliver… I thought I lost you."

Oliver did not – could not – respond. His throat was raw from calling to Sara, and holding his father made it clench up. His strength was fading rapidly. He wanted to sleep, but he resisted, convinced that when he woke up his father would be dead again.

When Robert released him, Oliver withered against the side of the raft and looked at the girl beside him. Sara was barely dressed, wearing pink lingerie and a thin, satin robe. She was young again, barely twenty years old, and for a moment he struggled to recognize her.

Oliver reached out, his arm lolling against her thigh before he managed to take her hand, and he squeezed it. She was not looking at him, and she didn't seem to feel his hand through her fear, and his throat was still locked up and raw from the saltwater. He thought it instead, made his promises inside. _We're gonna be fine_. _I'm not letting go this time_.

In an ocean storm nothing separated night from day. Oliver stayed awake as long as he could, but gradually the lighting striking the water was less climactic, and the _BOOM_ of thunder barely made his eyes open. He had seen the _Queen's Gambit_ go down twice now, and there was still no match for the fury of the ocean, in all the terrible things he had witnesses since then. It was cold and uncaring, sweeping them off course, dragging them relentlessly toward that rocky shore.

He relaxed only when the sea settled and the clouds allowed a brief glimpse of daylight, and let himself sleep. His dreams were short and violent, and he woke constantly to the sound of Sara heaving over the side of the raft, or crying softly to herself.

Oliver stayed out of the sun, restless, and put walls up in his mind, careful not to lose who he was, in the wake of who he had been the first time this happened.

 _You have to go back_ , she had said. _You told me you could do better_.

Her voice haunted him, and the raft rocked on the waves, and the promises he had made in the past, or in the future, wherever it was now, were the glue that held him together. Whatever happened, he would live to make them a reality.

 _I'm not going to die out here._


	2. Mercy

**A/N: Hi guys! I wanted to answer DC. I hate the kind of stories where the protagonist is invincible or omniscient, so don't worry about that happening in any of my stories. Oliver may have knowledge of the future, but he has his young body back and the island is still a very dangerous place. Also the pairings listed in the description are based on two different points in time, like the story itself. I really appreciate all of the reviews I've gotten so far and I hope you all enjoy this chapter as well.**

 **XxX**

 **Chapter 2.**

 **Mercy.**

Sometimes the days came without dawn. There was just an endless, cloudy sky, with fog drifting over the water and a merciful respite from the blistering sunshine. Sometimes it rained, and it got so cold that Oliver lay tucked under the side of the raft with his arms around Sara, and he wished the sun would come out and set his stupid life vest on fire. Sometimes it was pleasant, with a nice warm wind and spotty clouds, and rays of sunlight blasting through the fog – weather he would have loved if the yacht had stayed above the waves.

Oliver had been here before, but knowing changed nothing. He knew where the raft was headed and roughly how long it had taken it to get there the first time, but the ocean didn't care what he knew. It was vast and empty and violent. On the first day he had tried to change things, figuring out the current, swearing he saw land, and urging everyone to take shifts rowing. Four hours had gotten them nowhere but exhausted, and his fellow survivors thought he was seeing mirages.

On the third day at sea, his head began to split. He woke up with a headache and vomited precious fresh water over the side of the raft. His throat ached, his skin flushed, and his stomach churned. The memories persisted and filled his head with flashes of sounds and pictures. He saw a massive city full of shadowy faces, felt a sword slide through his belly, and heart a gun going off beside his face. _Be prepared for the pain_ , she had said. _Your present will try to reconcile your past, to make you forget one or the other. You must not forget either._

His companions were getting along better than him, but barely. Robert was ghostly and pale every hour of every day, sitting up on his own, mostly in the sun. The tip of his nose had begun to peel. His silver hair was thin and greasy, his lips were chapped, his lifejacket was crooked, and his blue eyes were gradually turning gray. He gave no indication of what he was planning – the horrible things Oliver had witnessed the first time he was on this raft – and never even checked his vest. He had a gun hidden in there somewhere.

Sara was stronger than he had expected, despite how young she was. She spent the first day crying, until her body ran out of water, and that night she gave in to dry sobs and whimpering for her parents. But on the second day she seemed to accept that they were drifting, that Quentin couldn't rescue her from this, and she sat by Oliver's side. A little length of rope caught her attention and she sat for hours twisting and untwisting it, tying it in knots, braiding it through her fingers. She was the one who stroked his back while he vomited. Oliver had given her his button-up shirt to cover her thin lingerie, and sometimes she curled up inside it and peered out at them through the neck hole. Her face was ruined by the weather, windswept and pale, but there was steel underneath. Oliver let himself wonder what it would be like having her here, instead of in the clutches of Ivo, or training under Nyssa in Nanda Parbat.

Gus was the last of the survivors, and he had barely been a blip on Oliver's radar the first time the yacht went down – until Robert shot him. Oliver remembered it well, remembered how this man had found himself sitting on the rations with a knife in his hand, remembered how his father had whipped that gun out his vest and killed him, and then…

But it was just a memory now, and that wasn't going to happen this time. Oliver had been distracted today, but he noticed that Gus was near the rations, running his knife along the black case that meant life or death for the people in the raft. He noticed his hungry eyes, how he looked over at the other three. _Is he thinking of killing us so he can survive? Is he a killer? Is that what Dad saw in him the first time?_ Oliver looked at his father, but Robert never spared a glance for Gus. _Or did he think Gus was expendable, an obstacle to me surviving?_ It chilled him to think his father could be that cold, even though he had done his share of plotting with Malcolm.

Gust was a concern this time around. He had taken to drinking handfuls of seawater every now and then, he claimed just to wet his mouth. He was trying to make the water in his canteen last longer. He got a faraway look in his eyes every now and then, and scratched his sprouting beard, and said, "Oliver you look sick. Did you hit your head in the boat?"

Oliver did hit his head in the boat, and he did feel sick, but he would never admit that to this man. He was looking at Oliver like a lion looks at a limping gazelle, and it unnerved him. _If I was myself I would throw him out of the raft_. But he felt weak all over. He was twenty-two again, with soft arms and low endurance. Something as simple as rowing had tired him out in half an hour. So when the other man talked that way, Oliver stayed quiet and avoided his eyes.

Sara was the one who responded, every time, "Oliver is fine." She said it so fiercely that her dry lips cracked and blood spotted her chin. She reminded Oliver so much of Quentin that it stung.

In Oliver's nightmares, Gus had always looked like a weasel – angry and small, hunched, with a narrow chin and a big nose and blood in his eyes. He had seen him leaning over the precious rations, hoarding the water, giving them less and less until his father was driven to shoot him. But his nightmares were warped, and Gus was just a normal man. He was healthy looking, healthier than the three of them, and younger than Robert. He had short, spikey brown hair, and black eyes, and he was strong. He was a normal man, an old friend of Robert's, who kept the yacht in good condition and ruffled Oliver's hair every time he saw him.

He would usually mutter something after he accused Oliver of being injured, and go back to his thoughts, but this time he spoke louder. "We should save our rations, in case he doesn't make it."

Oliver felt sick again, but the bile in his throat didn't come from the pain anymore. It was those words, so simple, so calm, and so cowardly. Was he going to have to put himself to the test so early? Sara bristled beside him, scowling at the crewman.

It was Robert who spoke this time.

"Oliver is fine." He scooted into the shade, getting out of the sun for once. "Come here, son." Oliver obeyed, sitting up and dragging himself closer to his father. Robert put a protective arm around him, offering him his canteen, as if to spite Gus. "Drink. You lost a lot of water."

Oliver turned it down, as much as the idea of taking a sip appealed to him.

"You were never seasick before," Robert said, almost laughing. The sound dried up in his throat. "But I guess this is a lot different than sailing, huh?" He took a sip of water, and then placed the canteen protectively between his legs. He seemed to gather himself, licking his lips, smoothing his hair with one hand. "I'm… so sorry. I thought I would have more time."

He had heard those words before. Oliver could have finished it for him.

 _I'm not the man you think I am._

"I'm not the man you think I am," A little blue came back into his eyes as Robert spoke. And who did Oliver think he was, before getting on this boat? _It was so long ago. He was just my dad. He was fun and alive, and I loved him._

"I didn't build our city. I failed it."

Oliver put his hand up to stop him, but his arm was weak. He rested it on the lifejacket instead, thinking he glanced the gun tucked away inside. "Dad, it's ok. I know."

"You don't, you don't." Robert looked ashamed, and that was a hard expression to see on someone that Oliver had forgiven a long time ago. He hated it. "I did things… terrible things."

"No, Dad, I _know_."

Oliver caught his eyes, and tried to impress how much he meant those words. He knew about the Undertaking, about his work with Malcolm, about the man he had accidentally killed. He knew that his father had taken this trip to fix his mistakes, but he never made it to his destination. He knew all of that and he spent years trying to understand how he felt about Robert, sometimes hating him, sometimes missing him so much that the pain threatened to overwhelm him. His father was complicated, but Oliver still loved him. Robert had to understand that, he had to see it.

It seemed that he did. Robert frowned, and started to talk before silencing himself. He held onto Oliver a little tighter, and said in an empty tone, "I'm sorry."

"I know, Dad."

He could have stayed there forever, perpetually, ignoring the hunger gnawing at his belly and his aching, dry throat, because he had his dad again, and he had saved Sara, and he was so far away from the future that it seemed impossible.

But things changed on their own.

Gus sat straight suddenly, twisting that knife in his hands, and then he lunged across the raft and aimed it straight at Oliver. He barked, "It would be a mercy!"

Oliver shrunk away from the knife and kicked out, catching Gus in the arm and throwing him off balance. Gus hit his knees and came again, slashing, and Oliver was so slow to react that it would have taken his nose off, if Robert didn't shove him backward.

Robert pulled out the gun, much too close to their attacker.

Everything happened at once.

His father fired, and missed, and Gus grabbed the gun. The two men hit the floor and wrestled. Sara screamed and scrambled away. Oliver narrowly missed the knife flying toward him. A shot went off, and then another, and blood sprayed the back of the raft.

Robert slumped into the bottom and went limp.

Oliver cried out, blood misting on his face, " _DAD_!"

Rage swelled up inside and blinded him. Oliver charged, slapping the gun out of Gus' hand like it was a toy, and heaving him bodily from the raft. He lost his balance and fell in after him, hitting the frigid water on his side. He clawed at Gus' vest, tried to catch his flailing head, struggled against his strong arms. Gus dealt a heavy blow to the side of his head. It took away his hearing for a split second, but the pain didn't register.

"You killed him!" Oliver screamed, between mouthfuls of saltwater, losing himself in the fight. "You killed him!" It became more about survival, to get Gus underwater first. When the vest was free he shoved the other man back, kicking out ineffectually, and then trying to get a punch in.

Gus was faster and stronger. He hit Oliver on the jaw and then grabbed his shoulder, thrusting him down. Oliver still had his vest on, but it didn't stop his head from going underwater. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. His arms pinwheeled and he thrashed, digging his hands into Gus' stomach, trying to break the skin, trying to do anything to get free.

 _BOOM._

Gus released him as a gunshot went off. Oliver scrambled backward, finding the surface near the raft. Sara was on her knees at the side, holding a gun in shaking hands and pointing it at Gus. "If you touch him again, I'll shoot you," she threatened, her voice trembling almost as much as her hands. "Oliver, come on, come here." She held out her hand, but kept the gun on Gus.

Oliver climbed back into the raft, still panting, and sat on his knees beside Sara. He glanced back at his father, at the bloody raft, and then had to look away.

"Stay away," Sara told Gus. "My dad Is a police officer and he taught me how to use this."

"You can't leave me out here," Gus said plainly, dumbly. He was treading water, uninjured, but shooting Robert at such close range had covered him in blood. It was in the water with him now, floating around him, the evidence of his crime. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Sara kept the gun on him, her eyes darting toward Oliver. "Ollie?"

Oliver retrieved the knife from the bottom of the raft, groping around in the pooling blood. He could barely stand to look at this man, or the man lying at his feet, so he focused on the ocean instead. In a voice wet with grief, he said, "You heard what she said, Gus. Stay away."

Gus swam closer instead, clutching at the ropes that hung from the sides of the raft and hovering there in the water. He stared up at them in appeal. Oliver was forced to look at him now, and the weasel from his nightmares came back to life. Sara backed away a little, weary, to keep the gun out of his reach, and stammered, "Get away, I said."

"I'll drown, I'll die," Gus pleaded. " _Please_."

He was desperate now. He lunged up, sweeping a hand toward Sara, but the girl was out of his reach. He would have to climb higher on the side of the raft to get to her. Instead he just sunk back down into the water, up to his neck.

Oliver took the gun gently from Sara's hands, pointing it at Gus. His hand shook. It had been a long time since the weight of a gun felt heavy to him. He let everything but the rage drain away, creating a cruel logic. Gus was dangerous. If he was allowed back in the raft Sara would be in danger. But leaving him in the water was worse. He was guaranteed to suffer, blistering in the sun, nibbled on by curious sharks. In his mind, in that moment, there was only one way to end this.

He barely heard Sara say, "Just get away from here. Let go of the raft. Ollie, make him let go."

Gus was answering, "Just tie me up and leave me in the sun, but get me out of this water. _Please_. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Oliver let the monster take over, sheltering behind his cold walls, which were stained with the blood of the people he had lost, and the people he had killed.

He fired.

Gus released the ropes and fell backward into the water, his arms surging in a reflexive loop before they smacked the surface. He might have taken another breath, the way the water surged around his ruined face, but Oliver couldn't be sure. Sara screamed and staggered away as the body began to sink. She tripped over Robert and scrambled under the shelter.

Oliver slid to both knees to watch the body drift. He rested his elbow on the side of the raft, and let the gun drop into the water. It vanished in an instant. Gus had thick black clouds expanding under him, rising up through his lifeless fingers. Looking at him made Oliver feel something other than the rage – _guilt_. A tremor of pain ran through him.

 _Be prepared for the pain_ , she had said. _Your present will try to reconcile your past, to make you forget one or the other. You must not forget either._

He had already slipped and let the past take over.

 _I'm not strong enough_ , he thought, when the body began bob below the waves. The ocean swallowed it, like it had swallowed the yacht, and Gus was no more.

"Oliver!"

He flinched at the sound of Sara's voice, high-pitched to his aching head. _She can't see me like this._ He dipped his arms in the water, rubbing the blood from his skin.

" _Oliver_!"

He turned, finally, and found Sara kneeling over Robert. His chest was moving.

He was alive.

Oliver fell in beside Sara, putting his hand, instinctually, over his father's heart. It beat faintly under his palm. He smiled, and laughed, and tears formed in his eyes, and for a few precious seconds he could scarcely put a thought together.

"What do we do?" Sara asked, wide-eyed, tugging on Robert's bloody sleeve. His arm had a hole in it and half his shirt had already turned red.

"Get his vest off, and use the knife to cut those straps."

Oliver helped her get the vest off, and then went to work tearing his soiled sleeve away. It was harder than he expected and he had to use the knife. Together, they bound the wound and dragged Robert into the shade, propping his head up on his vest. Oliver held his arm up above his heart until the wound started clotting and the bleeding ebbed away.

 _Not this time_. Oliver sat beside him, watching, alert for any red flags, but Robert breathed easily. It took Oliver a lot longer to come down from his panic.

Sara sat apart from them, watching Oliver wearily. He couldn't blame her. She must have seen his face when he killed Gus. He had been told that he got a terrible expression when the monster crawled out. Her opinion of him was the least of his problems, though. He had supplies enough for one person, for maybe two more days, and the last time he live this the raft had drifted for six days and there were two less people. His dad was alive and Sara was with them, but he might have only succeeded in killing them both more slowly.

He looked over the water and pleaded with the ocean to carry them faster, to bring more rain to help them survive, to throw fish into their raft or stop its endless rocking.

But the ocean never answered. There was no mercy for them, and no mercy for Gus.

XxX

XxX

XxX

 **Star City.**

"Really, I think if I had two more I could do some serious damage." Curtis was in the lead, examining his ruined silver sphere with a sour face. "Or if I stopped them from exploding every time someone hit them with a sword."

Rene was right beside him, his muddy hockey mask tucked under his arm, "Isn't that the point?"

"No. Not really. I mean that could be seen as a means of self-defense and it _does_ kick ass, but I have to clean it out and reset the battery every time it happens. Plus sword contact is a really specific requirement for a defense mechanism. Maybe I should make them bigger, add some more cushion between the core and the outer shell."

Rene paused, cocked an eyebrow, and said, "You wanna make your balls bigger?"

Dinah snorted. "You set yourself up for that one."

Oliver strode past them, sparing a smile for that. He was glad his team was in a joking mood after a fight like that. Curtis had taken a nasty cut over his eye, Rene was limping, and Dinah had a bruise forming on her cheek. Oliver had at least three broken ribs and his wrist ached from punching a man wearing a steel breastplate.

"I think I have a concussion," Digg complained as he pulled his helmet off. His outfit was all black, padded, and reflective, so most of the cuts aimed at him had glanced off. One of the swordsman whacked his visor with the broad side of a blade. Digg rubbed the back of his head, wincing, "Oh, yeah, I definitely have a concussion."

Oliver clasped him on the shoulder, "I thought that big guy was gonna take your head off."

"He tried. Oh, he tried." Digg smiled ruefully, "If those guys ever get back to the streets, we should bring magnets. Who wears metal armor, anyway?"

"Crazy assholes," Rene supplied, limping toward them.

Felicity spoke then, coming down the platform steps with a tablet in her arms. She was a vision in a green summer dress. "Guys." She looked and sounded far too grim. "Guys, we have a problem."

He hated it when she said that. "What kind of problem?"

"Something is happening downtown." Felicity beckoned them, and the whole team reassembled around her main monitor. It was larger than the others, mounted in the middle of her work station and surrounded by all kinds of tech. Felicity flopped into her rolling chair and slid the length of it, running her finger along the screen to summon blinking security cameras.

Oliver looked for something useful in the screens, but it was all nonsense. "Define something."

"Something big." Felicity looked up at him, biting her lip. "I heard a call go out on the scanners and tried pulling up the traffic cams nearby, but this is what I got."

Every window showed a variation on the same scene – bright orange pixels, which he assumed were flames, and darker pixels moving around the edges. "Is someone tampering with them?"

Felicity shook her head. "I thought someone might be trying to cover their crime, but the report was about a fire."

"We're not firefighters, Felicity."

"I know, but I have a bad feeling about this."

Felicity looked at him, into him, and made it hard to say no. Whatever she had heard on the radio did more than give her a bad feeling – she was afraid. He put his hand on her shoulder, "Okay." He addressed his team, "Move out. Let's see if we can help."

His team obeyed, fresh off of a win and in high spirits, but Rene grumbled about labor laws all the way to the elevator. Digg lingered to look at the pixelated traffic cams again.

Felicity twisted her chair toward Oliver, taking the hand that was on her shoulder and squeezing it. "I heard them say something about a ghost, on the radio."

"A ghost?"

"It was a jumble. Whoever called it in was out of breath and they put their mouth right on the radio." She looked up at him long and thoughtful, "It gave me a bad feeling. So be careful."

"A ghost," Oliver repeated again, nodding. "Let's use open coms."

He took his motorcycle, still warm from their last battle, and rode beside Digg through the dark streets of Star City. It was late and only a few cars were out. Felicity was their guide, calling out turns, keeping them appraised of the situation. So far there were two officers on the scene and many more on the way, and the fire had not spread.

It got smoky downtown, and Oliver could have found the building by smell alone. It was an art museum build into a busy corner, so engulfed in flames that the whole block was lit up.

" _I see a lot of fire_ ," Curtis said over the radio.

" _Fire and smoke_ ," Dinah agreed.

" _Some people got out, telling the police wild stories_ ," Rene added. " _Hold on. Something about a man attacking someone_. _A man in a black suit. He killed a lady named Tina_."

Oliver pulled off his helmet, attached it to the back of his seat, and pulled his hood up. Hundreds of feet from the blaze, the street was murky, smoke clinging to the asphalt. Only a few police officers were there, and few onlookers. Dinah lurked on the roof of a nearby building, and Curtis was in an alley on the opposite side of the road. Rene was less inconspicuous. He strolled through the small group of smoky civilians like he belonged. He was wearing normal clothes and no mask, to get closer without being suspicious.

But the police had bigger problems on their hands than nosey neighbors.

Oliver pulled his bike up close to the crowd, knowing the intensity of the fire would hide him from sight. It burned like the sun, flames roiling out of the front of the building, gutting it, and sending a thick pillar of black smoke into the sky. Four officers were present and they stayed away from the inferno, trying to take witness statements while the fire roared at them.

"Is that an art museum or a fireworks expo?" Digg asked, pulling his visor up and squinting at the building. He pulled up alongside Oliver, straddling his bike.

Oliver thought the flames seemed unnaturally intense, too, but they were still just flames, and his team couldn't do anything about it. "Overwatch, no ghosts here. No firefighters either."

Felicity came back immediately. " _Scanners say someone was left in the building. Is there any way you could get to them_?"

" _No_ ," Curtis said, from the rooftop. " _It would be suicide to go in there_."

"If there was a killer in there, the fire will have killed him by now. Back to the bunker, guys." Oliver watched his companions leave the rooftops, and Rene walked off into the darkness like he had never been there. Digg stayed beside him, the fire making his black helmet look orange.

Oliver was the first to see it.

The figure came from the flames, where the doorway had been, seeming human enough at first. It had the shape, at least. But no one could stand in a fireball like that.

"What the hell…?" Digg said, pulling his helmet off.

" _What's happening_?" Felicity demanded.

Oliver pulled his hood back to get a better look. The figure was big and broad, the biggest person Oliver had ever laid eyes on, and he was wearing streaming black robes. He had a heavy hood over his head and there was black hole where his face might have been. The fire should have illuminated it, should have showed every part of him – should have burned him up like a dry leaf – but he remained like a shadow as he walked free of it.

He was dragging something behind him, a flaming corpse. He took it down the front steps, and the fire followed him out, streaming off of his robes but never seeming to touch them. A few feet from the blaze the flames danced away. He dropped the body at the bottom of the stairs.

" _Hey, what's going on_?" Felicity buzzed in his ear.

"I think we found your ghost," Oliver said. He looked at Digg and found the same surprise in his friend's eyes. "Everyone get back here."

In the little crowd of people who had made it out of the building, a woman started screaming. She backed away, stumbling over herself, shrieking to the officer closest to her. "That's him! That's him! Oh, God! Tina! Tina! Oh, God!"

Oliver drew his hood up, got off his bike, and knocked an arrow, "Looks like this might turn into a fight. Wild Dog and Canary, flank him. Terrific, get those people out of here."

The figure seemed to hear him, though he was several hundred feet away. He looked up, and Oliver felt eyes on him from under that cloak of his. It had been a long time since anything chilled him that way, but those invisible eyes stole away his confidence.

"I think he sees us," Digg said, unnecessarily.

Oliver shook himself, "Let's go introduce ourselves, then."


	3. Defender

**Chapter 3.**

 **Defender.**

The ocean water was eerily tranquil. Oliver felt free when he swam in it – free of the sun, free of his shaken friend, free of his injured father, free of what he had done to Gus, and free of the horrors of the future he had left behind. It welcomed him without judgement, and made the raft and the storm, and the body and the blood stains, seem too far away to be real.

In the ocean Oliver didn't have to think about Sara, about how drawn her face had become, or the sound of her stomach growling. It had been four days since the yacht went down and they were running out of food. Sara had idly said, "I wonder what it's like to starve to death." In the ocean, he didn't have to hear that echoing over and over in his head. He didn't have to wonder if saving her and his father had only damned them all to starve to death.

He forgot how thirsty he was when he was swimming. He was allowed a few moments of peace, drifting along with the current, one hand folded over the rope Sara had tied around his chest, and the over gripping Gus' knife. Oliver thought he might catch a fish and split it with Sara, so he could justify saving more rations for Robert.

But the ocean was dangerous by itself. Oliver had seen sharks on the surface, attracted by the scent of the blood lingering on their raft. Strange things had slid past his legs as he swam, or bumped into his back, but when he slashed out he only hit water. He kept his eyes open, no matter how much they burned, and stared stubbornly into the murky blackness for a meal.

He descended over and over, gasping for air each time he came up, going down as far as he dared, until the water squeezed his head and the light of the surface vanished completely.

Sara always pulled him up and brought his problems back to life.

"You have to rest," she croaked, in a voice that almost lacked volume. She was on her knees on the edge of the raft, the rope resting between her legs, holding out her limp arms for him. When he grabbed on, she helped him back into the raft, and then collapsed in the shade. She was so tired lately she mumbled, like she was always sleeping, "Just rest."

Oliver had more energy, because he still had hope. "I have to catch something."

Sara didn't respond. She dragged herself up beside Robert, checking his arm reflexively, and then resting her chin on the side of the raft and staring into the mesh net that protected them from the sun. Oliver gave in and sat on Robert's other side, putting one hand over his father's heart.

Hours later, around midday, Robert finally stirred.

Robert coughed, kicking out, and struck his son in the thigh. Oliver woke up afraid that Gus had come back to life and climbed into the raft, but when he saw his father his heart soared. He had started to worry that Robert would never wake up again, that all of his efforts had been for nothing.

"Oliver," Robert gasped, trying to sit up, floundering, and then falling backward heavily. He made it on his second attempt, groaning, his eyes darting around them like he was expecting an attack. He wrapped both arms around Oliver and squeezed. "Oliver. What happened?"

"Gus shot you in the arm." Oliver watched the makeshift bandages he and Sara had wrapped around Robert's arm slowly saturate with blood. His movement was enough to get it bleeding again. "You should try to stay still."

Robert sunk to his back, resting his head on his lifejacket pillow and looking wearily at his injured arm. "How long was I out?"

"A day, I think."

Sara came out of her stupor and sat a little straighter, drawing her legs to her chest. She saw the bandages turning red, too, and stared at them with dazed blue eyes.

Robert was more alert than both of them. He scanned the raft. "Where is Gus?"

 _I shot him, and let the sharks have him_. Oliver couldn't bring himself to tell the truth.

Sara answered for him, in that murmuring, raspy voice of hers, "He attacked us and he was trying to shoot Ollie, but Ollie got the gun and shot him first." _She lied_. Oliver looked at her, trying to catch her eyes, but Sara was still focused on the fresh blood.

"How much food is left?" Robert asked.

Oliver put his hand on the black case before Robert could open it and see their lackluster supplies. "Enough. I caught a fish, and ate it, so you can eat something."

Sara looked up at him, at last, but said nothing. She let him lie.

Robert was reluctant, but he had to be famished by now. He drank half a can of the meal-replacement milk and gave the other half to Sara. "Drink it, sweetheart," he said to her, "You need it. You look pale. You were already so little." He took another can out and pressed it into Oliver's hands, "And you, drink this."

"Dad, I-"

"Caught a fish? You've never caught a fish in your life, son."

Oliver smiled despite himself, despite everything. He hadn't given much thought to what it might have been like to save his father, but now the possibilities seemed endless. He had the knowledge to get them through this. He could bring Robert home, and they could all be a family again. His mother would never remarry, Thea would get them both back, and Robert could run the company, like he was supposed to. Oliver could handle the rest. He would do anything, everything, to make it better this time, to keep that familiar face in his life.

"I had some earlier," he promised his father, putting the can back in its case. He got a quick count – four cans, two packets of stale bread, and one extra canteen of water that used to belong to Gus. His resolve only strengthened. It would be a challenge, but they were going to make it.

Oliver sat with Robert for hours, saying nothing, dozing in and out of sleep. He felt weak from not eating that day, but having his father awake was a relief. Sara snuggled into his other side and held onto his arm, giving him warmth, giving him comfort. He could tilt his head back and stare at her face like he had not seen her in a hundred years, though that was not the case. Sara was a part of his life in the future, and their friendship had never wavered. She was much younger than the last time he had known her, with fuller cheeks and an easier smile, but those _eyes_ were the same.

"I wish you would eat something," she murmured to him when his father had gone to sleep curled up on his side. Oliver glanced at him, hoping he would not hear. Sara pulled a can from the container and pressed it into him, like his father had. "Please, Ollie."

"Tomorrow," he promised, with no intention of doing it. "Help me row."

"We tried that," she reminded him.

"I'm not tired."

"Really? Your eyes are drooping."

"I wanna feel like I'm doing something." He took up an oar, and gave her the other one, checking the current before they started. "If we find land we can survive. We can."

"There is no land," she said, but rowed anyway.

XxX

XxX

XxX

 **Star City.**

The figure moved like a snake, dancing from side to side, his feet seeming to drift from one place to another without ever really touching the ground. He was at the same time fluid and clunky, a hulking monster and a ballerina. Shadows graced his shoulders, and his black-gloved hands seemed to strike in seven places at once.

He got his hands on Digg.

" _No_!" Oliver heard himself cry out in dismay as his friend was backhanded across the chest, and flung nearly a hundred feet to the other side of the street, where his shoulders broke the glass in a storefront and the rest of him slithered down and lay motionless on the sidewalk.

He also heard a cry of rage come from him, unbidden, as he redoubled his efforts.

He aimed a punch at the figure's head, and his fist seemed two feet away. He struck out for the figure's chest, but hit only air. He kicked, and a cold hand grabbed his leg and twisted him, dropping him hard on the pavement and knocking the breath out of him.

Wild Dog charged suddenly, blood running down his temple, and got flung away like Digg. Curtis had still not gotten up from when the figure had chopped him across the shoulder. Dinah was staggering upright against a building, clutching her leg. Felicity was buzzing in his ear.

Oliver got up again, relentless, as the figure made his way toward the fleeing crowd. If anything he could be a distraction while those people got to safety.

The figure was not entertained by his interference.

He hit Oliver in the chest, sending him reeling several feet backward, and then ducked low and swept Oliver's feet out from under him. He hit the ground again, his exposed shoulders sheering. His clothes were tattered, shredded under the heat, and the cold, of the figure's blows. Blood rolled down his cheeks. His nose was clogged and broken. But he got up again, groaning.

The figure was headed for the crowd again.

"Hey!" Oliver shouted. "Hey! Get back here!"

The figure turned, and Oliver felt those invisible eyes on him again. Beneath his hood there was only blackness, but he knew those eyes were there. He _felt_ them.

This time the figure didn't hit him. He got so close, so fast, that Oliver couldn't stagger away. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, hot as fire, and forced him to his knees. For a split second the world went silent, the street disappeared, the fire was quenched, and it was just the two of them there together on the pavement – and then the sounds came back all at once, like blood rushing into his ears, and he heard a woman screaming far away.

Somewhere in the blackness beyond the hood, the invisible eyes were on him. Oliver forgot to struggle, forgot to find freedom, and stared up at the figure. He felt fingertips brushing his heart, touching his soul, stirring up the things that made him who he was.

And the world went black.


	4. The Shore

**Chapter 4.**

 **The Shore.**

 _Thump. Splash_.

His world came down to two sounds, one always following the other in an endless symphony. He no longer dreamt of water or the feeling of food dropping into his belly. The sun burrowed into his shoulders, into his soul. He had to take his tank top off, dip it in the icy water, and lay it over his shoulders to get the stinging to stop.

 _Thump. Splash_.

His arms were peeling, and burning again under the peeling skin. His shoulders were hard and cramped but the pain went away as the ocean stole his sensation. He stopped feeling the heat, the cold, the spray of the water, the nagging wind.

 _Thump. Splash_.

It went on and on, from dawn until dusk, until his dogged determination failed to keep his body moving and he had to surrender his oar to his one-armed father.

 _Thump. Splash._

Whenhe was not rowing he had his arm in the water, soothing the soreness of his palms and making sure they were following the current. He tasted the air, watched the horizon, and had brief, violent nightmares full of colors.

 _Thump. Splash_.

He was rowing when the sound finally ended. Instead of _thump, splash_ , his oar _thunked_ against something hard and water surged up over his legs. Oliver tried to free it, irritated, but the oar only skated sideways and made a loud hissing sound, rattling his arms.

Oliver finally looked around and saw that their vessel had stopped. His oar was lying on loose rocks that occasionally surged with seawater.

He was looking at the shore he had spent years on, but it seemed so alien to him now. It was virgin, free of the remnants of the raft, the stick with the mask keeping watch over the ocean, free of the blood of the people he had lost there. He also had fresh young eyes, and part of him was still twenty-two. Hope blended with fear, and eventually became apprehension. It was a lifeline, this island, but it was also deadly.

The sand had a familiar heat to its surface, and a subtle ice further down, when his toes slipped through it. The trees looked the same, hardy leaves whistling about in the wind, and though he had arrived days earlier than the first time, he was twice as exhausted from rowing.

Oliver kicked the side of the raft, stirring his companions. His father sat up and groaned, and Sara jumped and dropped her oar. She had still been rowing in the shallow water, not noticing they weren't moving. She squinted at the beach, but didn't really seem to see it. She hadn't been eating and the last of their water had been used up the day before.

Robert was apprehensive, but there was more exhaustion than anything in him. His eyes had huge purple bags coming down from them and his mouth was set in a deep, hungry scowl.

"Come on," Oliver urged when neither of them moved. He coughed as his unused voice stirred his dusty throat. "Guys, come on. Help me pull the raft onto the sand."

Sara came onto the shore stiff-legged and drowsy, staggering when she hit the sand, but catching herself before she fell. She gave the forest a thousand-yard stare. Robert helped Oliver drag the raft closer to the shore, but beads of sweat quickly formed on his forehead and before they had gone ten feet he collapsed.

"Dad?" Oliver sunk down with him, trying to catch him but failing. Robert slumped onto his stomach, fresh blood staining the rags that bound his bullet wound. Oliver rolled him onto his back and brushed the sand from his face. He was unconscious.

Everything slowed down from there. Oliver got behind his father and dragged him by the shoulders toward a big piece of driftwood, leaving a heavy trail through the sand. When he hit the wood he tripped backward over it, nearly skewering himself on a pointy branch, and hit the ground on the other side. Sara came over, waking to the sound, and helped him pull the raft to it. They flipped it and tied it to the branch, creating a makeshift shelter to give Robert some shade. Oliver couldn't imagine dragging him any further. Even that short distance was enough to make him nauseas.

He sat outside, against the wood, leaning his head back to put his face in the sun. It made him feel more awake. Sara laid under the shelter for a while, but she was restless. She stood quietly in the sand and stared at the ocean, like a rescue boat was going to materialize from the sea.

D _id I really do them much good, dragging them out here with me?_ Oliver wondered. His father was growing paler. He put on a tough front on the raft but now his arm was stinking of infection and he could barely stay awake. When Oliver thought about losing him a second time his determination slipped away and he was a little boy again, too afraid to act. Sara was so young, and so afraid. When she came back into his life after the yacht went down the first time, she had already been gone a year and hardened by the terrible things she did on the freighter, but now she was just a kid again. She was not a warrior, not an assassin, not the White Canary – just Sara.

 _I'm not losing anyone. Not this time_.

Oliver pushed himself as much as he dared, hiking into the forest to fill the old milk cans and the canteens with water. That was the easy part. Getting food on Lian Yu was trickier and he wasn't strong enough to try it now. Water had to be enough.

The brook was right where he remembered it would be, his lifeline when he had landed here the first time. He had stayed on the beach for a while and left his father's body in the raft, unable to look at it, let alone bury it. When he finally did, he made a stone pyre on the top of the hill overlooking the trees, and then he got an arrow through the shoulder.

He shuddered at the memory, touching his arm where the arrow had gone through. There was no scar yet. The woods look suspicious, though, and Oliver sat by the water and stared at the trees, wondering if Yao Fei was hiding among them. _How long did he watch me before he decided to take me in? Did he see us arrive?_ But the forest was silent, no arrows zipping through the leaves. Oliver estimated he had waited four days to bury Robert, and their rowing had gotten them there a few days early, so his old friend might not even be patrolling this part of the island yet.

Back at the shelter, he let Robert and Sara drink, and sat outside with his tank top on his shoulders, to stop the sun from bubbling his skin. It was almost dusk anyway.

 _I never wanted this_ , Oliver reminded himself, as if that would take him home. But what was left of home, anyway?

 _You have to go back_ , she had said. _You told me you could do better_.

Oliver shuffled through his time on the island all over again, dragging up memories, wondering about Yao Fei and Slade Wilson and Shado, wondering if he could save them all, instead of losing them one at a time. He thought about Fyers, about Ivo, about the Mirakuru, and balked before the possibilities. She had done more than she intended, in sending him back. He could change the future of his city from here. He probably already had, with Robert alive.

"Did you drink enough?" Sara was crawling out of the shelter, awkwardly clutching Robert's canteen to her chest. She sat beside him, looking like a completely different person with a little water in her. She pressed it to his chest. "And don't say yes."

Oliver smiled. He couldn't fathom the repercussions of having Sara here with him instead of on that freighter with Ivo, and he didn't want to. He just wanted to keep her safe.

He drank as much as he could without being sick, and slumped against the log. The sun was going down and the beach became one big shadow. Sara undid some of the buttons on her shirt – formerly his shirt – and took a sip from the canteen every now and then, her eyes drifting closed. His father slept a long time, and when Oliver touched his head it was getting warmer.

"How long do you think it'll be before they come to get us?" Sara wondered sleepily, as dusk turned into night and the beach grew colder.

Oliver didn't want to crush her hopes, but he knew no one was coming. The _Queen's Gambit_ had been blown off course by the storm. Last time he had been here, it had taken him two years to get 'rescued' and shipped off to Hong Kong.

He just put his arm around her shoulder and looked past her to the shelter, where Robert was suffering. He moaned in a fitful sleep, his skin flushed.

"His wound is infected," Oliver murmured.

Sara opened her eyes to that, and whispered, "Is he going to die?"

She didn't mean it cruelly, but Oliver snapped, "No." Sara flinched. He staggered to his feet and started walking down the beach with an unsteady gait, feet slipping in the sand. "Tell him I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Where are you going?"

"I have to find an old friend."

Sara was confused and she called after him, but she stayed where she was. He wasn't sure if she even had the energy to follow him. He was tired and his shoulders were still locked up, his back knotted and angry, his face aching from the sun, and the water had settled badly in his stomach, but he promised himself he wouldn't lose his dad this time.

He was just going to have to meet Yao Fei more quickly.

XxX

XxX

XxX

 **Star City.**

When Oliver woke up the ferocity of the fight came back full force. He sat straight up in bed, ripping wires out of the wall, triggering a shrill, wailing alarm, and flinging a teddy bear noisily into the plastic trashcan. A medley of sounds assaulted his ears and shut his brain down for a moment, leaving him dumb and confused.

"Ollie?"

Her voice brought him back, and the fight vanished. He was in an ARGUS hospital room, sitting up on a narrow bed. His sister was standing beside him, her hand hovering over his shoulder like she wanted to touch him. Her eyes were glassy from lack of sleep.

"You're safe here," Thea said, brushing his shoulder with her fingertips. It felt like ice touching his skin and he flinched away. She withdrew her hand. "You were unconscious for twelve hours. How do you feel? Just tell me you're okay."

Oliver felt fine, physically, but whatever the figure had done to him lingered. He remembered the sensation of his shoulder melting away, of a hand reaching through his skin, his muscle, his bones, and grasping at his soul – grasping at whatever made him Oliver Queen. It was terrible and in that moment he had been certain he would die. He looked at his shoulder, pulled the gown away and tested the flesh. It was the same as it had always been, ugly and scarred, knotted with muscle.

"I think I'm okay," he told his sister.

She put her hand on his shoulder now, keeping it there when he flinched. Gradually the icy feeling faded and he felt how warm she was – or how cold he was. Thea leaned over him and wrapped him in a tight hug, breathing a sigh of relief. "Never do that to me again."

Thea went to the cafeteria to retried Felicity and Digg, who were irritated that he had woken up the moment they went to get something to eat. Felicity looked just as distraught as Thea, and John looked rough. Half his face was swollen and purplish and his mouth was stuck in a twisted scowl. Oliver flinched at the memory of the figure flinging him across the road. Felicity sat on the foot of his bed and took his hand while his sister drew up a chair and sat by his head.

The rest of his team arrived shortly after, with Lila at their head. She went over to say something quietly to her husband, and then she stood by Oliver's bedside, a folder clutched to her chest. He had always known her to be bold and strong, but Lila looked out of sorts today, almost shaken.

"You're lucky to be alive," she said to Oliver, with an important tone that told him it was not just a sentiment, but reality.

Curtis had a bit of a hunch and one of his arms was in a sling, but he was smiling when he said, "They had to resuscitate you sixteen times. And I'm not smiling because I think that's funny. ARGUS gave me some really strong painkillers and I can't make my face relax."

"Seventeen," Renee corrected. He looked a lot like Digg, but several of his fingers were taped together. "It was seventeen times."

"No, we counted." Dinah was only wearing a sports bra, because half of her torso had been swathed in white bandages. "It was sixteen. I got to shock you the first time."

Digg dragged a chair up for himself, next to Thea, and patted Oliver on the leg. "I'm glad you're okay."

Oliver smiled, glad his team had come out of the fight better than him. But that smile faded and thoughts of the figure in the flames darkened the room. "What happened?"

Everyone looked at Lila, and Oliver had to follow along. She cleared her throat and set that folder of hers in his lap. The color indicated it was classified. She flipped it open, revealing a grainy photo of a large male figure.

"I want everyone to meet Juggernaut."

 _Juggernaut_.

Oliver remembered him being well over six feet tall, with thick shoulders and a long, billowing cape that seemed to writhe with flames. He wore a heavy hood that was too dark to see into and big black gauntlets for gloves, like a cartoon villain. He could point out all of those things in this picture, no matter how grainy it was.

Rene rubbed his neck and quipped, "We had the pleasure."

Lila gave him a patient look, and said, "He came out of nowhere last year and started terrorizing small villages in Russia." She turned the page, and showed him a map of Russia with several red dots indicating attack locations. "No one knows why, and no one survives his attacks."

Curtis cleared his throat, giggled nervously, and said, "Until now!"

"We call him Juggernaut because he blows through anything that stands against him – soldiers, walls, tanks. We don't know why he's in Star City or why… why he didn't kill you."

Oliver picked the folder up and tried to turn the page, but that was the end. It was a picture and a map, not a very promising start. "Why are we just hearing about him now?"

"He was half a world away," Lila said shortly, with a glance at Digg.

Diggle looked miffed, but he spoke to Oliver instead of his wife. "Apparently he kills everything and everyone he touches. But not us."

"Why?" was all Oliver could manage.

Lila took the scant folder back, closing it delicately and folding her arms around it again. "The surveillance footage from the art museum was destroyed in the fire and the witnesses are all giving different stories. It seems he walked inside and killed that woman, Tina Baker, during lunch. No one saw him coming."

"Then he dragged her down the steps like a piñata," Rene added, scowling.

"We have footage from the nearest traffic cams that show your encounter with him."

Oliver was curious to see it, to find out if he could find any weakness in the way the Juggernaut fought, but he was also a little ashamed of how easily he had been taken down.

Lila said, "He put his hand on your shoulder, Oliver. Do you remember that?"

Juggernaut's hand was like fire and ice. It was like kneeling on that mountaintop with a sword through his belly, listening to his last rites as they were delivered by his killer, and then sailing through the air, through the cold, into the snow below the cliffs. Oliver touched his stomach reflexively. "I remember."

"You went to your knees, and Juggernaut seemed to be killing you. Witnesses to his attacks in Russia describe this as his MO. But he let you go."

Oliver asked again, with nothing better to say, "Why?"

Lila just shook her head, and the others all appeared grim. She cleared her throat and switched trains of thought, "So far Juggernaut has killed thirty-eight people in Russia and one person in Star City, that we know of. All of his victims have been female, over eighteen and under forty. Nothing else seems to connect them."

"Does he talk?" Curtis asked. "I mean, has he talked? Maybe we could-"

"He never says anything. He attacks and kills anyone in his way."

Oliver felt eyes on him, but his own gaze had settled on his lap. He felt tired all of the sudden. "It felt like… like what Damien Darhk did, but different somehow."

"We have to stop him, before he thinks this is a good place to settle down," Digg said.

"She _just_ said he's unstoppable," Rene said.

"Everyone has a weakness." Oliver tried to sit up again, but failed, groaning. Felicity touched his shoulder worriedly. "We just have to find it, and exploit it. We'll stop him."

"You need rest. Your heart has been through the ringer today." Lila looked more unsure of herself than Oliver had ever seen her. She left the room, followed by Digg, and his team trickled back out. Thea made herself comfortable in the recliner, informing Oliver that she wasn't leaving his side again lest he get himself killed, and Felicity stayed where she was.

He didn't like how scared she looked, either, and recalled how it felt to almost lose her, how it felt to almost lose Thea. He had never wanted to make them feel that way again. He took Felicity's hand and squeezed it, whispering, "You've been quiet."

Felicity tilted her head back to look at him in that way she had, like he was the only other person in the world. She leaned over and rested her head on his chest, sighing. "I enacted our worst case scenario plan for the first time today. It felt gross."

He stroked her hair down. "Is he there now?"

"Yeah. I told her I'd call in the morning, but what am I supposed to say? An unstoppable murder machine just moved into our backyard?"

"Tell her we're going to handle it."

"You guys were like flies to him."

"Next time we'll be more prepared."

Felicity tilted her head up, a glassy sheen over her eyes. There was a profound sadness in her that hadn't been there before the attack. "I can't…"

"You're not going to lose me," Oliver said.

She gazed at him for a long, long while before she finally smiled. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. She laid by his side and went to sleep, and his sister was snoring a few minutes later. Oliver wanted to stay awake, to guard the two of them despite his weakened state, but his exhaustion dragged him back to sleep.

He promised himself that when he was healthy again, and when Digg had his face back, and when Rene stopped limping and Curtis had both arms and Dinah could ditch the bandages, they would eliminate this threat like any other.


	5. Relentless

**A/N: Yes, Juggernaut is an OC character. Oliver refers to Sara as having 'died' as in her innocence dying. He means how she change very radically from the time the yacht sank to when he saw her again in Star City. As for Oliver telling people that he has traveled back in time, you will find that out very soon.**

 **XxX**

 **Chapter 5.**

 **Relentless.**

He was deep in the woods by dawn, and his memories of the island didn't fail him once. Two years of navigating this hellish place gave him sure feet in the blackness, guided him around land mines, and kept him far away from the other shore, where Fyers and his army were set up. His mind was on a single track that night, pushing aside all of his thoughts about where he had come from, how much he wanted to get off this island, and how afraid he was for his father. At least he could do stubborn. That much was in him.

But he heard the leaves crunch too late, and the telltale sound of an arrow breaking the air behind him. It hit him with significant force, making him stagger, and the point dug through his shoulder and came out several inches, so he could look down at it as he hit his knees.

Oliver gasped, unable to stop a wail of agony. His body was still so young, and that was the worse pain he had ever felt. It rolled through him, making him vomit, trying to knock him out.

Yao Fei stepped out of the woods, another arrow poised on his bow, dressed all in green and wearing the hood. Oliver breathed in rapid bursts, foam forming at his lips, blood dripping over his hands and into the leaves.

"Please," Oliver said, forgetting himself. He switched from English to Mandarin, "Help me, please. We were shipwrecked. My father was shot and his wound is infected. He has a fever. Please." The light began to fade and the leaves got closer. He tasted dirt, and realized his head had dropped to the ground. "Please," he said to the leaves, to the forest, to the bearded sentinel pointing an arrow at his head. "He's on the beach."

Yao Fei crouched down and tilted his head, looking long and deep into his eyes. He responded in Mandarin, in a voice so familiar that it burned, "Who are you?"

But Oliver could no longer answer. His words were gibberish. He closed his eyes and let go.

XxX

XxX

XxX

Oliver counted under his breath. "One… two… three.. four…" He flinched as he neared the terminal number, clutching his bow and keeping an arrow knocked for good measure, "Five… six… seven… eight… nine… _ten_."

He twisted, slid down the roof, and hit the ground in the alley, his boots throwing dirty water up the brick walls. He pointed his bow, drew the arrow, and waited as the figure stomped toward him. His cloak was not flaming this time and it was too dark to even imagine there was a face beneath that hood. He wore big black gauntlets on both hands and stocky black boots, and his shoulders were impossibly wide and broad, his footsteps landing like thunderclaps.

Juggernaut kept coming for him, swinging his arms, building momentum, and Oliver had to loose a grappling arrow to get out of his path before he was run over. He came back behind him, stumbling a little, and shot four arrows in quick succession. One glanced off of his shoulder, another bounced off of his belly, an exploding arrow failed to latch and instead hit a puddle beneath him, throwing water with the force of its payload. Juggernaut barely noticed it was there and the explosion didn't even make him miss a step. The fourth got stuck in his glove, briefly, and then dislodged and hit the ground.

Oliver cursed to himself, "Not seeing any weak points. His gloves must be made of Kevlar, and his vest, too." Oliver drew again, trying put one through his hood, but Juggernaut caught the arrow before it could enter that inky void. "He can catch arrows. That's great."

" _What about the exploding ones_?" Felicity asked over the radio.

"Nothing." Oliver backed off, scaling the brick wall again and coming down on the other side of him. Juggernaut simply turned and came toward him again. "But he's pretty determined."

Oliver had been tracking the black cloaked killer, and when he swept the young woman he had been pursuing to safety, Juggernaut didn't take it well. He had been following him for almost an hour, pursuing him at a quick walk but never breaking into a run, never looking for a vehicle, and never saying anything. Oliver had gotten him into the alley and played keep-away for the last half hour, and Juggernaut showed no signs of tiring.

"At least he's slow," Curtis called down. He was sitting on the rooftop, watching, forbidden from getting in on the action.

Oliver took a precious moment to glare up at him, and then he danced away from the Juggernaut again and fired a few more arrows, looking for a sweet spot. So far his armor, or whatever he was wearing, was impenetrable, and fireproof. He walked right out of the net arrow and broke the rapid polymer barrier Curtis had thrown by strolling through it.

" _Come back to the bunker_ ," Felicity said. " _I don't like you so close to him, and I don't think this is getting you anywhere_."

" _Gladly_ ," Curtis responded.

Oliver lingered, folding his bow over his back. "Say something!" he shouted at Juggernaut. "What do you want? Why are you here? Why won't you _stop_?"

Juggernaut walked on relentlessly, and Oliver moved back to his other side.

"Can you talk? Do you understand me?" Oliver asked. "Where do you come from? Why are you doing this?" Oliver grabbed his bow and shot three explosive arrows, groaning when they did nothing to slow Juggernaut. "Just _stop_!"

Juggernaut stopped.

Oliver held his breath, his hackles raising. He prepared himself for a fight, drawing an arrow silently and holding it against his bowstring. He waited what seemed like an hour, with Juggernaut in the middle of the alley, and him standing with his back to a brick wall. He could feel those invisible eyes on him from behind the hood, but there was no other indication of life in this creature. He was as still as a statue.

And then he spoke in a thick, sinister, and confused voice, "I won't stop."

Oliver's heart jumped at that tone. Juggernaut sounded like he was asking himself a question, not answering one. It had the same effect on Oliver that his invisible eyes did, the same effect as his hand on Oliver's shoulder. He felt the fire, the cold, blending and twisting inside of him.

Juggernaut came closer, slower, and said, "I… can't stop."

His steps got louder, and Oliver felt the earpiece buzzing in his ear, but he couldn't hear what it was saying. He could only hear the boots hitting the ground. _Thud. Thud. Thud_. Closer and closer and closer, until he was five feet away. And then he stopped again.

He spoke, his hand coming up, those black gauntlets reaching for Oliver again, "I have to find her. I can't stop. I have to find her."

Oliver tried to back away but the wall held his shoulders.

A voice broke through the silence in his head.

"Oliver! Don't let him touch you!"

Oliver ducked, diving for the safety beyond Juggernaut. He hit the ground and rolled, scrambling to his feet and running until the end of the alley came to meet him. When he turned, the Juggernaut was coming for him, resuming that quick walk.

A car pulled up behind him and Digg threw the door open, "Oliver!"

He got in without thinking, sitting up to watch Juggernaut fade into the background. His heart hammered and he felt sick. That voice rang in his ears.

Digg grabbed Oliver by the collar and shook him, "Did he touch you? Oliver!"

Oliver pushed his hands away. "No, no. No, but he said…"

"We heard." Digg touched his ear, shaking his head. "What came over you, man? You let him get way too close."

"It was like he was enthralled," Lila said from the driver's seat. She was looking at Oliver in the rearview mirror. "Juggernaut must use his voice to placate his victims."

Oliver shook himself, trying to clear that out of his head. "No. The people at the museum didn't say anything about him talking."

Lila stared forward this time, "Maybe he has a special interest in you… first he didn't kill you at the museum, and now this? It can't be a coincidence."

" _Maybe Oliver just pissed him off_ ," Rene suggested over the coms.

" _I'm running an analysis on his voice, to see if I can isolate anything abnormal_ ," Felicity said.

"You look a little… green," Digg told Oliver.

He felt green, but he wasn't going to admit it. "If you find anything, I can wear a recording device next time I poke the bear."

" _Let's not poke the bear for a few days_."

"It's been two days since Tina." Oliver looked out the window, his eyes fixating on the women they drove past. Any one of them could be his next victim. "I took his victim today, so he needs another one. We need to keep an eye on him."

" _I'm following him. He's at the old docks, wandering around_ ," Curtis said.

"Keep an eye on him, but don't let him see you, and don't make contact unless he tries to hurt someone. Just get her to safety, and then run." Oliver rubbed his head, groaning.

Before the car had even made it back to the bunker, Curtis came again,

" _Guys… I lost him. Sorry_."

" _Big guy to lose_ ," Rene commented dryly.

" _He walked through a wall_ ," Curtis defended. " _Like, literally, though a wall – without breaking it! He was right there one minute and I thought maybe he didn't know where he was going and he was human after all, but then he was gone. By the time I got inside this… fish market?... he wasn't here. Do you think he knew I was following him_?"

"I don't think he would care," Oliver said. "Get back to the bunker, everyone. We need a new strategy."


	6. I Buried You

**Chapter 6**

 **I Buried You**.

Oliver woke to a dull, rhythmic throbbing in his arm. He was in a warm cave, surrounded by the smell of wet peat moss and smoke. It was dark, but the fire kissed the walls and showed the fingers of the river that had carved this place from stone. He remembered it like a child remembers a nightmare for years afterward, with a strange nostalgia and a healthy fear.

His father and Sara were here this time, making the nightmare become real. Robert had one hand planted on Oliver's shoulder, holding a leaf poultice in place, and Sara was on his other side. She looked so much smaller in this cave, pale and shaky, and angry, and sort of nauseas, all at the same time. It was just the three of them, and the attention shifted to him the moment he opened his eyes. Robert said something but it was lost to the crackling fire, to the blood roaring through his head. Something was missing. Yao Fei.

The chest was in the corner, propped open, with pouches of herbs resting in a nest of supplies. Oliver recognized the leaves on his shoulder for their medicinal purpose, but realized Yao Fei had never given him a name for them.

Finally the voices came through.

"How do you feel? Can you hear me?"

Robert sounded eager and afraid. It reminded Oliver of the first time his father had arrived at the hospital after one of his car accidents, three days after he turned sixteen. He had a way with his voice, muting the rage, letting the concern pour out.

"I tried to stop him but he was too strong," Sara was saying, in the middle of a long explanation of how they got there. "He just picked your dad up and he said you were hurt and-"

"Look at me, son," Robert encouraged, taking Oliver by the cheek and staring intently at him, like he could diagnose his woes from the shade of his eyes. "Can you talk? Do you need water?"

Oliver groaned, just to get them both to stop talking. His head throbbed along with his arm. He tried to steady himself, because it felt like he had lost time. Robert had more color in his face, and a clean bandage around his upper arm. Sara was more lively than she had been on the beach and she was wearing a pair of baggy shorts along with his shirt now. He was also ravenous and his throat was raspy.

He tried to speak, but he only coughed violently.

Robert put a canteen to his lips as soon as the coughing ended, holding it up for him to gulp water until he was breathless. When he eased it down, he whispered, "Slowly, now."

Oliver coughed again, but it was wet this time and he managed to find his voice afterward. "How long… how long was I out?"

Robert and Sara exchanged a glance, and Sara said, "Maybe two days."

"Maybe?"

"We've been in here, mostly. When he brought us here, I could barely stand up." Robert glanced at the cave entrance, shrouded in hanging lichen, and frowned uncertainly. "He shot you with an arrow, Oliver. Do you remember that?"

Oliver glanced at his shoulder again. How could he forget? "Sort of."

"But he did this," Robert motioned to his bandaged arm, and then between himself and Sara, "And he brought us food. But he never says anything. He said something to Sara."

"He said you were hurt," Sara clarified, "But nothing else."

"I tried to ask if he had a boat, or some way to contact the mainland," Robert added. "Nothing. The guy is a brick wall. I don't know where we are, how far off course that storm took us."

Oliver knew both of those things, but he kept it to himself for the moment. Instead he gently pushed away his father's hand and peeled back the poultice to get a look at his wound. It was identical to the one he had gotten his first time on the island, only on the opposite shoulder. It was oozing blood and a bit of greenish liquid from the poultice. Scar tissue was already reaching out from the corners, trying to mend the hole. He winced, feeling the flesh shear together inside.

"He brought us here, out of the weather," Robert concluded.

If his father was angry, he was hiding it very well. He was in survival mode, groping for a way out, but his money was no good on this hellish island.

"What did you mean on the beach, Ollie?" Sara leaned closer, much more afraid than Robert. She was the only one who wasn't currently injured, but she looked the weakest from the journey.

Oliver didn't know what to say to her, but he didn't have time to answer anyway. Yao Fei strode into the cave, dressed in tattered greens with that hood drawn up over his head. He dropped a few pouches on the ground near his box, and then threw his hood back, showing that mop of thick black hair, those intense eyes, that searching expression.

He was seeing a ghost, standing there in the flesh. He could pinpoint the place on his head where the bullet had gone through, when Yao Fei was killed right in front of Oliver and his daughter Shado. He could see the blood oozing out, and that surprised glaze over his eyes.

Yao Fei drew his bow and aimed it at Oliver, standing three or four feet away. He spoke Mandarin, "Who are you?"

Robert spoke before he could, "We have money, billions, if you can get us home. We just need a boat, or a plane, or some way to make contact."

Oliver knew it was futile, that Yao Fei was a prisoner on this island and the only people who could get them home weren't interested in strangers knowing about their operation. But he let his father speak, and gathered his courage. He was going to tell Yao Fei the truth. The man would probably think he was crazy, but he was a disciple of the mystic arts through his mentor, and his heritage. Surely there was some way to convince him.

When Robert stopped, Oliver started.

He spoke Mandarin, keeping his eyes on Yao Fei and ignoring the puzzled looks on the faces of his companions. Soon they would have to know the truth too.

"Yao Fei… I knew you once, but it was… like a dream. We were friends."

He was already losing the archer. Yao Fei looked doubtful. He had his bow strung and ready to shoot, and he held it there in suspended animation, not even swaying.

"I swear I'm not lying, and I'm not crazy. I was sent here… back here… from the future. Something terrible happens and I was sent back to stop it."

Yao Fei crouched, releasing the tension on his arrow and separating it from the bow. He placed them both on the ground, his hand over them, and peered long into Oliver. He finally said, softly, "You are feverish from the wound."

Oliver was feeling a little warm, but he persisted, "No, no. I knew your daughter, Shado," – at that, Yao Fei cocked an eyebrow, and scowled – "I knew Shado. She was my friend. She taught me this language, and how to shoot an arrow. You… you were taught by Talia, the daughter of the demon. She taught me, too."

Oliver sounded like a child. He was just a college dropout with a baby face all over again.

He persisted anyway.

"I was sent back to change things." He spoke English now out of habit, but Yao Fei would understand it. "We were friends, brothers. You saved my life last time, too."

Yao Fei slowly shook his head, rising, and turned away from them.

Robert put his hand on Oliver's forehead, concern in the crinkles of his eyes, "Son, you need to eat and drink. You have a little fever."

Oliver jerked away from his father, sending a jolt through his shoulder, and said, "Please. You have to believe me."

Yao Fei spoke English this time, "Sleep."

Robert brightened, "You do speak English!"

Yao Fei gave Robert a look just short of disdain, and didn't bother responding. He looked at Oliver again, and switched languages, "We will talk again when you have rested, and you will tell me the truth." Despite his words, he seemed painfully intrigued by what Oliver had said, even disturbed. Oliver had used personal details for just that reason. How many people in the world knew that he had trained under Talia? How many Americans spoke perfect Mandarin? He had to have his doubts. Doubt was all Oliver needed.

"What did he say?" Sara dared, once Yao Fei had left the cave again.

Oliver laid his head back against the rock he was propped on, shutting his eyes.

Robert chose a different path, "Oliver, where did you learn Chinese?"

"You said you were going to see an old friend, when you left the beach," Sara said.

"It's a long story. A really long story." Oliver drew in a sharp breath, trying to work past the pain, but it was starting to take over. His father dabbed the poultice again and it faded for an instant. "Dad… keep doing that."

Robert did as he asked, but pursued his questions, "Did you know that man?"

"I… I used to." Oliver sighed as the poultice sent a wave of cold through his arm. It was getting easier to talk, but harder to think of the right answers for their questions. He decided again on blunt honesty. "He was my friend, the first time I was here."

"What do you mean?" Robert paused, and the pain returned.

Oliver opened his eyes and found his father's eyes boring into him. "I… I was here before. I was here, and the _Queen's Gambit_ sank, and you died." He got stuck on that, and repeated it, "You died, Dad. I buried you. But now I'm back, and I have a chance to fix this, to fix everything."

Robert shook his head like Yao Fei had. "You need to rest, Oliver."

"I'm telling the truth." Oliver groaned as Robert hauled him sideways, and lay him flat on the ground. "You believe me, right, Sara?"

She blinked, folding her arms around herself protectively, "Ollie…"

"Just rest, please." Robert sat by him, brushing his hair away from his face, and using the poultice dutifully until the pain faded again. "Just rest for now. I'll get us out of here, I promise."

Oliver closed his eyes again. "You can't. We're trapped. I buried you."

"You'll be okay, son." Robert was whispering to him now, or Oliver had already fallen asleep and he was just dreaming of his voice. "Nothing is going to happen to us. I'll keep you safe."

 _Who will keep you safe, then?_


	7. Waking

**Chapter 7.**

 **Waking.**

It was days before the wound in his shoulder no longer seemed life-threatening. Oliver still had a hard time walking around without the pain making him black out, so he was forced to stay in the cave while the other men left to find food. Sara chose to stay, partially because it was cold out and she had little clothing, and partially because she seemed to have an unspoken agreement with Robert that Oliver would never be left alone. She sat up beside him, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, and gazed around the cave.

"Do you think…?" Sara nudged his good shoulder, and motioned to the skeleton on the far side of the cave. Its deformed skull was evidence of the terrible serum hidden on this island.

"No." She must have thought Yao Fei killed him. "That was a Japanese soldier. He died a long time ago."

Sara was the only one who never accused him of being crazy. She just said, "Oh," and stared at it for a while. And then, out of nowhere, she said, "It didn't happen like this the first time, right?"

It was hard to tell if she was patronizing him, but those words sent a jolt straight to his heart. He stuttered, "No, um, you and Dad…"

"We were dead."

"No, not you. You were still alive in the future… years from now."

She smiled a little at that, and in a sad way she said, "Oh, Ollie."

Oliver could not help a smile, because he had missed hers so much. In the future she rarely smiled anymore, and since the yacht went down she had looked so sad and afraid. Now she seemed more like herself. "I'm not crazy."

"I didn't say you were." Sara stroked his head. "But you have to know that you're talking crazy. I mean, you're from the future, Ollie, really?"

He shrugged, and the motion irritated his shoulder. It had been three days, but the wound was still on fire. Yao Fei and Robert insisted there was no infection, but Oliver felt it crawling through his veins. Or maybe he did have a head wound.

"I don't know how to make you believe me." Oliver twisted his uninjured arm, and rolled his shoulder. He took a sudden interest in his body, looking over his arms, his chest, his stomach. It had been a long time since his muscles had been so unused.

Sara shifted, uncomfortable on the hard cave floor. "You know, I wish I'd been wearing more clothes when the boat sank. Wait, did you know the boat was gonna sink?"

"No." Oliver glanced at her, finding amusement glittering in her eyes for the first time. It made him smile again. "I was in the water. That was the first thing I could change. So I found you."

Sara nodded, "Thanks for that."

She was so easy to talk to. He wished he could tell her everything, but it would take days to recount the life they had gone through. He settled for another promise. "I swear I'm not lying, and I'm not crazy. You just have to trust me. I know this island. I know the people. I know the dangers."

"If you know so much, tell me something. How are we gonna get home?"

Oliver tried to get up, groaning all the way to his knees. "There's a supply plane that comes in a few months, on the other side of the island. We have to take it."

Sara was looking at him doubtfully. She jumped up to help him to his feet.

"But we have to get to Slade first, and get Shado away from Fyers."

"Now you're just saying names."

Oliver used the cave wall to support himself, walking over to the skeletons. They were familiar and grotesque, remnants of experiments with the Mirakuru. "We have to destroy it, all of it, before Ivo gets his hands on it."

He grabbed a rock and placed it on top of the skull, and then drove his heel down into the rock, crushing the skull like plaster beneath it.

"We can change things, Sara, save lives. Save everyone."

"Ollie…"

He stumbled, and caught the wall before he fell, "How can I prove it to you?" It was getting harder to hide his frustration. He was on a timer. An intense sense of urgency flooded his gut.

She shook her head, a little wide-eyed.

Oliver grasped at bits of information, working hard to sort the future from the past, to find something that he knew about her, that she had not told him yet. "You had a crush on me."

Sara took his arm, guiding him back to his corner, "Duh."

"No, I mean, you liked me before Laurel. You snuck out to come to Tommy's party, but Laurel tipped off the police and you got pulled over."

Sara crouched in front of him, staring at him intently. She was trying to remember if she had ever said anything like that to him. Gradually, her disbelief shifted to suspicion. "How did you know that? Did Laurel tell you?"

"No. You did." Oliver saw that he had her on the hook. He dug deeper. "You told me you wet your pants in third grade, on a field trip, and stole some more from the gift shop."

Sara shook her head, "I… never told anyone that."

"You told _me_." Oliver groped for more, but many of the things he knew about Sara could have come from her sister as well. He needed the things that even Laurel was never privy to, the things she whispered when they lay together at night. "You wanted to be a doctor when you were a kid… um, you stole a box of animal cookies from Laurel and blamed some other girl in your class and felt guilty later because Laurel pushed her down…"

"Stop, stop." Sara sunk down to her knees in front of him, repulsion and fascination in her eyes. "How did you…?"

"I came back for a reason," Oliver said. "We can save everyone. We can save Laurel."

"What?" Sara's eyes snapped to his, "What about Laurel?"

"Years from now, a man named Damian Darhk… No, no. I have to start from the beginning." Oliver took a deep breath, wondering if she was ready for this story – wondering if he was ready for this story. "When I got home the first time, I had that hood, the one that Yao Fei wears…"

XxX

XxX

XxX

 **Star City.**

Pictures of the Juggernaut were always grainy. Oliver studied them, dozens of images strewn across multiple monitors in the bunker, all of them blurred or taken from far away. It added another layer of mystery to the cloaked figure, making him seem almost incorporeal, when Oliver knew that was not the case. He hit like a brick wall, and apparently passed right through them like they were nothing. He was real, but the photos made him look like a fairytale monster.

Lila was telling them the same thing again, because it was the only information she had. "He came out of nowhere and started killing in Northern Russia. We went back hundreds of years, as far as we could, and found no record of him before then."

He was tall and broad, unusually large for a man. He had to have a mother, though, and a father, and a home somewhere out there. Someone had known him. Someone had met him. Someone had spoken to him. It was just a matter of finding them.

"We also looked into connections with all of you, and particularly with Oliver." Lila gave him a sad smile. "Nothing. But I think there has to be a reason he let you live, a reason he spoke to you."

Oliver shrugged. "If I had met him, I think I would remember."

Felicity spun in her chair, putting a new image on the screen. It was the face of the most recent victim, a young widower who had been playing cards with her kids when the Juggernaut crashed through her door. Her son told the police the Juggernaut had taken her by the shoulder, and then she fell dead before him, just like that. He dragged her outside, ignoring the children, and left her on the steps of her apartment building.

He forced himself to look at her face, at a pretty picture she had taken for an ID badge at the school she taught at. Her name was Harriot Gardner, and her death made two.

Curtis looked away from the image. "We looked everywhere. The guy is a ghost."

Oliver glanced at Felicity, and she at him, and he put a hand on her shoulder. "He must have been someone, before he became this. Men don't just sprout out of the ground."

"I have ARGUS analysts looking further back, at ancient records, myths, and stories," Lila said. "I'll let you know if they find anything. Do you plan on engaging him?"

"Once we find him." Oliver went to the mats, "Someone spar with me. I need to hit something."

Suddenly his team found themselves very busy, and skedaddled. He stood alone on the mats and waited to see who would stay. Felicity lingered at her computer and Digg had let his wife get on the elevator alone. He came to say goodnight, told Oliver once more that they would get this guy, and then left.

"Nobody wants to spar with you," Felicity told him, coming onto the mats with him. "You hit too hard, and then you criticize their chi, or something."

Oliver smiled. "I didn't expect anyone to take me up on that."

She took up a cartoon fighting stance in front of him. "Well, if you really wanna hit something, bring it on. I can take it."

He cuffed her on the side of the head, "Oh, yeah?"

"Weak." Felicity punched him in the shoulder, dancing around him. "Come on, fight back."

Oliver dodged a punch, and grabbed her hand when she tried again. He twisted her, pulling her flush against his chest and pressing a kiss to her cheek. She squirmed for freedom.

"I wish our fights were that gentle."

Oliver released Felicity and they both looked up at the approaching woman. She was dressed down in blue jeans and a tank top, smiling at them as she set an old backpack on the ground beside her.

"Sara?" Oliver stayed where he was, "What are you doing here?"

"Wow, Ollie, you really know how to make a girl feel welcome." Sara came down the steps and onto the mat, and Felicity hugged her the moment she was close enough. Sara smiled, "That's more like it."

Oliver waited his turn, and wrapped her in a tight embrace, "Sorry, I was just surprised."

"Yeah, I know." Sara walked the mat after he let her go, looking around at the bunker. "You made some improvements since the last time I saw it. Is that a jungle gym up there?"

Oliver and Felicity answered at the same time.

"Tactical training," Oliver said.

"It's totally a jungle gym," Felicity said.

Sara laughed. "Awesome."

"Where are your time traveling friends? Your spaceship?" Felicity looked at the bag, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, "Is there something dangerous in there?"

"I'm on break, and no." Sara took up a bo-stick, twisting it around in her arms. "Let me see how rusty you've gotten since I've been gone, Ollie."

Oliver glanced back at Felicity, and then picked up a stick of his own, circling Sara on the mats. She struck first, quick as a snake, and nearly caught him on the side of the head. He blocked it, twisted, and drew the other end of his stick around toward her feet. Sara jumped back, feigned a stab, and then twisted the staff lightning-quick and whacked him on the thigh.

He limped out of her reach, laughing, "Oww."

"Shame on you," she chided.

"I fight with a bow and arrow, not a stick," Oliver pointed out.

"Excuses, excuses." Sara lunged, and their sticks met in a flurry of motion. She tried for his head, his thigh, his torso, but he met every hit with equal power. When she danced backward again, she was panting, "I came back because I heard about the murders."

Oliver slashed at her front, and then circled around, nearly getting a hit on her back before she twirled on one foot and blocked it. He wasn't surprised she'd heard about Juggernaut. His murders were public and terrifying, and the media had been sensationalizing it since the day the art museum went up in flames. "You here to help?"

She lunged, feigned to the right, and then spun on one foot and swept her stick low to the ground. Oliver jumped it. Sara smiled, aiming for his head again, and surprising him when she broke her stick in half and slashed the second half at his torso. He jumped back, but she caught him with both, skimming his forehead and tearing the front of his shirt.

"I was just coming home to see my dad, but there's no way I'm letting you guys tackle this without me. I heard he was unstoppable." She put her sticks together and lunged again, forcing him back another step. "I want to test that claim."

Felicity was watching them from the steps, sipping from her mug. She spoke then, "Juggernaut is bad news. He attacks at random, and walks off bullets and explosions."

"Juggernaut. Fitting name." Sara separated her sticks and came at Oliver with both again, but he used the reach to his advantage and got a blow on her shoulder. She winced.

Oliver let his bo-stick come to a rest at his side, signaling the end of the duel. "We could use the help. Thank you. But you have to be careful when it comes to him. Never get close enough for him to grab you."

Sara looked mournfully at her broken staff. "I'll get you another one. Why not?"

"He does this weird thing with his hand," Felicity said.

Oliver was more blunt. "It's how he kills."

"He sounds like a chill guy," Sara remarked. She laid her staff on the mat, and looked between Oliver and Felicity. "I can stay here, right? I mean, I love my dad, but when I get home I need small doses for a while."

"Sure," Felicity hopped up, nudging the backpack, "If you show me your time goodies." She frowned, "Wow, that sounded so much better in my head."

Oliver watched them go, and then took up his staff again. He twisted through the poses he had learned from all of his masters, switching fighting forms as easily as he breathed. The picture of the victims, Tina Baker and Harriot Gardner, were still on the screens, and he used them as motivation. A long time ago, in another life, he was taught that revenge was a powerful and venomous motivator, but it was what he wanted now. Years of relative peace had not softened him, only made him more determined to protect his city.

He was going to end the Juggernaut, no matter what it took.


	8. Born Again

**Chapter 8.**

 **Born Again**.

Just before nightfall, Oliver went outside for the first time since his injury. It seemed worse than the one Yao Fei had delivered to his opposite shoulder the first time he was on the island, like the stone tip had sheared more muscle on its way through. Or maybe his father had twisted it while he was still unconscious, trying his best to help with no experience.

Robert and Yao Fei returned in the twilight, Yao Fei carrying a few of the island's wiry rabbits over his shoulder, and Robert panting as he trekked along behind him. He came straight to Oliver, flashing a smile through his gasping, and put a hand habitually over his own injury, a gunshot wound. His was healing nicely, but it fascinated him to no end. He talked about how it would scar, how he would tell the story to his buddies back in Starling City.

"Our friend shot these guys with a bow and arrow. Can you believe that? He must have thought you were a deer when he first saw you."

Oliver knew that Yao Fei had shot him on purpose, to make him weak so that he could identify him as friend or foe, but he kept that to himself. He kept a lot to himself where his father was concerned. He was on the fence, still wondering if he should keep trying to convince him, or let his father believe he was just insane. Robert seemed very willing to believe anything but the truth.

Yao Fei said nothing, working on dividing up the rabbits and laying the strips of meat, which would be tough and hard to swallow when they were cooked, and disposing of the useless organs. He kept a few for himself, and when he held it up, Oliver nodded for the liver.

Cooking was a slow thing on the island. Yao Fei liked low, smokeless fires, so he collected his own wood and screened it carefully for anything that might let out a puff of white smoke. One little signal to the soldiers on the beach, and it was over. He kept the meat far over the fire, slow roasting it, until it was fully night and the four of them sat very close to keep warm.

It was tough, like Oliver knew it would be, but the meat made him drool. He kept one side turned away from the fire, to let his shoulder soak in the cold, and ate with his good hand.

Sara sat across from him, between Yao Fei and Robert, and said nothing about the things he had told her. She looked up occasionally, curious, defiant, but her eyes always went back to the ground. His story must have been overwhelming. She was young and not much had gone wrong in her world until now. If their roles were reversed, and she was trying to convince a young Oliver Queen that she had been sent back in time, he would have thought she was crazy.

But at least she listened.

Yao Fei got up and left them by the fire, going to wander the fringes of the woods looking for hidden dangers. When he was gone, Robert slid a little closer to Oliver and said, "I was talking to our friend in the woods – I was talking, he was grunting – and I told him you were just sick from the ocean, from all of this. I think he understands."

Oliver was tired of trying to explain it to Robert, so he just shrugged his good shoulder and kept eating. How was he supposed to explain something he barely understood himself?

When his meal was gone, and Robert and Sara were still struggling through theirs, Oliver got to his feet. He staggered a few times, cursing this soft, slow body, but he found his balance before he made it to the woods.

Yao Fei was just a shape, like a wraith, gliding between the trees with his bow in his hand. He had his hood up, obscuring his form further in the darkness, but Oliver could still spot him. It seemed disciplines of the mind had stayed mostly intact. He could probably track down prey, outthink a pursuer, and mix up a poison just fine. But without his physical abilities, his running, climbing, and sheer strength, the world was still a dangerous place.

He walked out into the trees, holding each trunk as he passed, and stopped where he could intercept his former friend. Yao Fei saw him, seemed to dodge around him for a moment, and then he came right for him. He stopped a few feet away, waiting, watching.

It was so dark that it was impossible to see his face behind the hood.

Oliver pointed to his bow. "Let me show you, if words do nothing."

Without a word, and no expression in the darkness, Yao Fei held out the bow.

Oliver took it, and the feeling of wood on his fingers gave him a chill. If felt like he was holding a ghost, in more ways than one. He had lost this bow long ago, and mourned it, and yet _this_ body had never even held it. It felt alien in his fingers. With that haunting feeling inside, Oliver took an arrow from the nearby quiver and knocked it.

He assumed a familiar position, his injured arm aching, and put as much power as he dared into the draw. The string was heavy, like bending a thick bundle of reeds. He was trembling by the time he had it halfway drawn. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

In the night there were plenty of targets – dark trees with deceptive shadows. He aimed at a thin one, at a little knot in its trunk no bigger than an apple.

Oliver took a breath, and let go.

He hit the tree, but not the knot. His arrow had shifted down a few inches and buried itself in the plain bark of the trunk. It was a poor shot, but better than a rich college dropout could have made.

He lowered the bow and set it gently on the ground, like it was a fragile antique. His shoulder burned from the exertion, but the burn felt nice. It made him feel more alive, like he had been living in a dream since his injury and now he could wake up. He retrieved the arrow and leaned against the trunk, again chilled by the alien touch of the carved wooden weapon.

Yao Fei finally spoke, his voice barely disturbing the forest. "You said my daughter taught you to shoot."

"Yeah, and she would have laughed at that." Oliver dug his finger into the wood where the arrow had penetrated, satisfied it had a little power behind it, at least. He felt that this was his moment to get someone to believe him, and went for it. "I know about Fyers. I know he wants to capture you."

Yao Fei ventured closer, still a mystery under that hood.

"He took your daughter, Shado. He brought her here. Or he will soon."

Yao Fei was on him in an instant, holding him against the tree by his throat. Oliver felt a flash of fear, a flash of satisfaction. Finally, he was getting somewhere.

"What do you know of my daughter?" Yao Fei hissed.

Oliver choked, "Shado was my friend. She was my friend!"

He had seen this intensity in his friend before, and it brought this dreamlike reimagining of his time on the island into sharper focus. He saw deep lines aching on his jawline, an aching sadness in his fiery eyes. Everything came clearer, even the feeling of bark gnawing at his back and flesh shearing in his injured shoulder. It was like it was just the two of them again.

Oliver wished he could see the same recognition in Yao Fei, but it was not there. He gradually loosened his grip, just enough to let Oliver breathe normally, and waited with his eyes narrowed.

"She was my friend," Oliver repeated, with more force this time. "I want to help you get her back, to get her away from Fyers, to get all of us off of this island!"

Yao Fei barely waited a heartbeat before he released him. "You are insane. You do not know Shado."

When he thought of Shado, Oliver still felt the same cold knife plunging into his heart. It could be four years later, or twenty, and he would never get over her brutal murder. His words reflected how haunted he was, "I do. I do know her. I can prove it, if you just let me speak."

Yao Fei was torn. He teetered from one foot to the other, maybe considering storming off, or putting another arrow in Oliver to stop his rambling. But he just waited instead.

Oliver jumped at the chance, his words coming in a flurry, "She told me she never got to see you a lot when she was a child, that she missed you. She has a dragon tattoo on her back. She has a twin sister named Mei who still lives in Hong Kong. She told me _you_ were the one who taught her how to fight because you wanted a son."

His former friend stood like a statue, his black eyes unchanging. If his words had any effect, it was impossible to read on a stoic man like Yao Fei.

Oliver went on, desperate to make him understand. "She was a lawyer, I think. Right? She was also gentle, and kind, and she loved you _so_ much. She admired you. She was looking for you and they tricked her, caught her off guard."

Seconds passed like hours, until Yao Fei finally spoke. His tone was gentle, heartbreaking, and the hardness of his eyes disappeared. "Is my daughter alive?"

"Yes," Oliver said, urgently, "Fyers is keeping her alive."

Yao Fei stared at Oliver for a while, taking in that news, this talk of theirs, and then he took up his bow and quill and stalked into the forest.

Oliver staggered back to camp with the ghost of Shado trailing behind him. She weighed heavily on his mind. He saw her face, her smile, felt her touch, and then heard the shot that took her away over and over again. It was one of the turning points that had turned him from this innocent young boy to a killer, and part of the reason he had lost his mother, and when all of those things collided in his immature mind it was nearly overwhelming.

Robert and Sara were still sitting by the fire, with Robert watching in intently and Sara doing everything she could to avoid looking at him.

"Come sit down," his father said, jumping up with a lot of vigor for a dead man.

Oliver pulled out his hold, "I can't."

"Or lay down inside."

"No." Oliver brushed him off again, letting his frustration show for the first time. Before the yacht went down, they had a normal relationship. Oliver got an attitude, Robert broke out his dad voice, and it was like nothing had happened the next day. But after the raft, after those last few precious moments with his father by his side, Oliver had no memories of him – he only had the memories of having to live on without him, having to become someone else without him.

He was that person now, not the kid that had been so afraid the first time. Robert gave him longing and confusion, and with Shado in his head there was just no room for that.

"I'm going to the stream."

Robert objected, "You should stay near the cave."

" _Stay here_ ," Oliver said again, with more authority, perhaps more himself than he had been since he arrived in the past. Robert offered no more protest, and Oliver wasn't in the mood to hang around and explain his suffering.

 _I lost a friend I haven't even met yet._

Oliver hiked up to the little stream that crossed a ravine near the cave. It was barely three hundred yards away, but undergrowth obscured the path. Oliver had knelt by this stream many times in his first few weeks on the island, and it looked the same as it had before – maybe a little less dangerous. He was numb to the danger, or overconfident. As he sunk to his knees he was reminded again how vulnerable he was. Even without a hole in his shoulder, he was weak.

He sat there for a while, splashing cold water over his shoulder to numb the ache, running his fingers through the creamy sand at the bottom just to watch it wash away. He thought about everything and nothing, and tried to make his mind as clear as the water.

Sara joined him eventually, mimicking his position and taking a few sips from cupped hands. He wondered how she had found her way here, and how she had seen him crouched so low in the darkness. In this darkness she looked as mysterious as Yao Fei – a beautiful girl with silvery skin and reserved eyes, the water reflecting light on her small, bruised body.

She sat quietly for a little while, and then commented, "Cold."

Oliver nodded.

"How does your arm feel?"

"Fine."

"Your dad is worried."

Oliver tried to read her face, to figure out what she was doing out here. It was freezing, and the water was icy, and she barely had any clothes to her name. She should be by the fire, keeping her thin limbs from turning black and falling off.

When he said nothing, she scooted a little closer and wrapped both of her arms around one of his, on his good side. She rested her chin on his shoulder, and looked at him with very familiar, penetrating eyes. He had been looking at those eyes since he made it to the raft, but they looked different now. She looked like _his_ Sara all of the sudden.

"I believe you," she whispered.

Oliver waited, making sure he heard what he thought he heard, and then a stupid smile came over his face. "What?"

Sara smiled back. "I believe you."

"What?"

She laughed, "I believe you. Who would make all that up?" She smiled again, and then it dampened just a little. Her eyes shot down to the ground. "When you left, what you said to your dad… It sounded like someone else was talking."

Oliver felt a weight lifted from his chest. "I wish my dad could see that."

"Give him time." Sara shivered, and worried the hem of her shirt further down her thighs, like she had a habit of doing these days. "Were there any extra clothes here the first time?"

He smiled, a free smile, and pulled his arm out of hers. He put it around her, pulling her up close to him, and said, "When my arm gets better, I'll get you something."

"I wear a size seven, in shoes," Sara said.

She wound her arm up around his neck and hugged him, and for a moment Oliver pretended she was the Sara that he knew. He imagined that he had loved and lost her, that she was one of his best friends, and a hero in every sense of the word.

"Can we go back to the cave now?" Sara asked, whispering again.

He couldn't be sure if she really believed him, or if she was just going along with his fantasy to make him feel better, but her confession had a profound effect on him. It was like his Sara was reaching through time, trying to give him a little comfort in his hellish place.


	9. Revelations

**Chapter 9.**

 **Revelations.**

Oliver looked over all the herbs lying before him, spread on the cave floor like a deadly buffet. Each had its own use, but only a few would make the cut. First there was a cousin of feverfew, a yellowish flower with thorns on its stem and a brilliant orange center. Oliver ground a few of the petals up with a stone and added water, keeping the mix in a bowl. He chose the black sponge second, a kind of mold that grew on the underside of rocks by the island shore. It had antimicrobial properties and the fibers, when shredded into tiny pieces, could heal a festering wound.

His performance was watched carefully by Yao Fei, who had set up the buffet and seemed prepared to stand by and watch Oliver kill himself if he chose the wrong herbs. He had placed poisonous berries, an irritating, spiny plant, and a few deadly herbs among his choices, including one that looked a lot like the black sponge.

Oliver assembled his poultice meticulously, checking behind himself with each ingredient, and then began weaving long blades of sweet grass together to make the base. He spread the paste over the grass mat, braced himself, and then peeled the old bandages away from his wound.

His shoulder looked like raw meat. Yao Fei had not spared him any pain when he took out the arrow. Instead of pulling it through or cutting it, he had ripped it back out the way it had gone in, shearing the flesh and opening a large, diagonal wound. The sight and smell of it made the archer look away, disgusted, and Sara gave a startled gasp.

With a gentle touch, and a growing tolerance for pain, Oliver laid his grass mat over the wound. The poultice touched his raw flesh and stung so badly it brought tears to his eyes, but a moment later the wound began to cool, to numb. Oliver moaned as the pain ebbed away.

Sara put her hand on his good shoulder. "Is it bad? Is it working? Oli?"

"It's fine, it's fine." Oliver tried to be reassuring, but it was hard with his eyes screwed shut. He sat paralyzed, afraid the searing pain might return. As the minutes passed and the numbness went on, he grew bolder, and opened his eyes. "Better. It's better."

He passed the test with the herbs, but it wasn't enough for Yao Fei to break the wall of silence he had put between them. He at least helped Oliver out of the cave. It was nearing evening and pleasantly cool on the island. Robert looked up as they came out, but turned his face stubbornly to the forest when he saw Oliver. His jaw was set, his eyes dark and thoughtful.

Oliver slid down to sit beside his father, and Sara sat on his other side. She was the only one who was convinced of his story – or so she said. Oliver had his doubts sometimes. Yao Fei had given her a better shirt to wear, bloodstained and torn, and dusty old trousers probably taken from one of the mercenaries he had killed. Oliver spared her that information. She and Robert were opposites right now – she was warm and inviting, offering him smiles and helping him get around, and Robert was avoiding him, giving him these ghostly looks when their eyes chanced to meet. It was something to do with the Undertaking, it had to be. Robert had plotted to destroy part of their home with Malcolm, and his doubts about it were what made the boat go down in the first place. Maybe he was guilty, because he knew Malcolm had to have done this, or maybe he was worried Oliver knew all his dirty secrets.

Oliver touched the subject while they sat there, hoping six days was long enough for his father to start trusting him, like Sara. "Dad, can we just talk about this?"

Robert gave his head one stern shake.

"Why are you-?"

"Just stop with the nonsense, already," Robert said, his tone sharp. He had no patience. The island had already taken that from him.

Oliver sighed. He was getting to know his father again, after years of living without him. Robert was always good to him, but he was also lying to him. His whole life, Oliver had been in the dark about his family, about the kind of man his father was. It could have been the island making Robert impatient, or a newfound inability to hide his true self.

"I wish you would just talk to me," Oliver said, letting it end there.

He sat quietly for a while, letting the cold numb his shoulder as the sun sank down. Robert went back into the cave and Yao Fei disappeared for hours. Sara remained by his side, her arms curled around one of his, looking out at the shadowy forest with somber eyes.

"When you were here… before… how long did it take to get home?"

Oliver had been intentionally vague regarding the island when he told Sara his story. Of all the horrible things that happened to him in the years that followed, none of them could top the horrors of this place. It was here that he had lost himself, and become someone else.

He just shrugged, and jarred his injured shoulder. "Hard to keep track."

"But a long time? Or…?"

"Yeah."

Sara glanced at him, an unsettling amount of trust in her eyes. "But this time it could be faster, right? Because you know how to get home?"

"Sara… there are some things I have to tell you about the island."

He never got a chance to explain anything. Yao Fei emerged from the forest at that moment, bow in hand, and beckoned him. He said, curtly, "Come with me."

Sara helped Oliver up. "I'll come, to help you walk," she said.

"No, just him," Yao Fei commanded.

"He needs me," Sara snapped at the archer.

Oliver realized that her soft tone and warm, encouraging smiles were only for him. She looked at Yao Fei with an almost unrecognizable fury. Suddenly he didn't feel so alone on this island. Sara may not have any of the memories he did, but she was still _Sara_.

"It's fine," Oliver said. "It's fine."

Yao Fei set a quick pace through the forest, his bow in his hand, a quiver of arrows on his back, and his green hood shrouding his face. Oliver had only been a kid the first time they met, unable to appreciate how much this man had sacrificed to protect Shado, but now he knew. Now he could appreciate this solemn march, this determination.

Well away from the cave, where no one would overhear their conversation, Yao Fei finally stopped. "I went to the camp on the beach."

Oliver felt a strange wave of recognition hum through him as he said, "Shado."

Yao Fei was not looking at him, but at his bow. "I saw them bring in a prisoner, but I was too far away to see who it was."

"It was her. It was Shado."

"Will he kill her?"

Oliver locked his jaw at the thought of it, at the thought of her first cruel, violent death, "No. Fyers wants to use her as bait for you. He wants you, and if he gets you, you both die."

"I could surrender-"

"You would both die," Oliver persisted. "Fyers will get what he wants from you, and kill you. Both of you. Whatever he might promise you, that's how it'll go down."

"Is that what happened… the first time?"

Oliver only stumbled on that question for a moment. "No. Sort of. You were… But she…"

"What is it you are unwilling to tell me?"

"Last time I… I failed you. I failed you both. But this time I'm not letting that happen." Oliver turned to look at the trees, so that Yao Fei could not see his eyes water. _I'm making a promise to a dead man_. "Nobody has to die this time."

"I believe you."

"We'll get Shado back, I swear." Oliver knew he sounded like a child, because he was so young and his voice so thick, but he had to say it. He had to say it out loud, so the island could hear him and hold him accountable, so the nightmares could sink their teeth into him, if he failed his friends a second time. "We can go to Slade, and steal the plane, and get off this island – all of us, together."

Yao Fei walked around him, drawing his hood back, an eerie, serious expression on his face. "I believe you."

"You… do?"

"I do. I would be a fool to deny your proof. How did this happen?"

Oliver shook his head at that, "That's a long story."

"Maybe you will tell it to me another time, when this island is nothing but a memory." Yao Fei stared at him for the longest time, like he was waiting for something. "When I was a young boy, I was taught that the mind, the body, and the soul are separate. While the body fights for us, the mind thinks for us, and the soul feels for us. I can see the turmoil in your eyes."

Oliver felt another weight lifting away from him.

Yao Fei moved on like they had only been discussing the weather. "How will we get to Shado?"

"We can't, not yet. I need time to heal and train. I need to be stronger, like I was before I was sent back." Oliver admired his bow, and added, "I never asked… did you make that?"

"You want a bow?"

"It would come in handy."

"I will be glad to help you hone your abilities."

"You actually taught me, the first time. You and Shado."

"We can start tonight, with your good arm. You will need-"

"A bowl of water. Way ahead of you."


	10. Built

**Chapter 10.**

 **Built.**

Oliver struck out, slicing his staff through the air. His attack was so fierce that when Yao Fei countered it, a resounding _thud_ startled the birds from the trees and sent a shockwave through them both. Oliver was forced to release his staff as the vibration surged up his arm, and Yao Fei used that small opening to lunge, dash him hard in the shin, and swipe his legs from under him. Oliver hit the ground, groaning, dirt sticking to the sweat on his arms.

"You are improving," Yao Fei said, circling him and offering him no help getting up.

Oliver staggered back to his feet, catching the doubtful look Sara was giving their teacher from the sidelines. She had no way – _yet_ – of knowing the intricacies of swordplay, and no way to see that every day Oliver got another step closer to remastering his body. He lost over and over, in many ways, but it was not due to lack of form. It was his body betraying him. He was young and weak, his muscles unshaped, undisciplined. But every day he was battling against that weakness.

He rejoined his master, preparing for another bout of combat. Yao Fei had carved bo-staffs from sturdy branches, each with a gentle curve from end to end, almost remnant of an overly tall bow, to add motion and life to combat. Sturdy and solid, the staffs offered a way to train in strength and form simultaneously, and delivered harsh lessons to exposed body parts. Yao Fei held his staff like he was disinterested, holding it slightly closer to the top, showing how he would spin it to parry the first blow thrown his way. Oliver had a similar posture, only he held his staff in the center, preferring the equal weight on both sides.

"People put too much faith in their legs," Yao Fei said, sweeping his staff unexpectedly toward Oliver's feet. Oliver jumped backward, spun, and parried another blow aimed at his head, making the staffs _crack_ together ferociously. "If you snap a tendon, the fight is over. Place a broad blow from any weapon to the calf to make your opponent stumble."

His words were for Sara, because the lesson was already natural to Oliver. He had taken out many foes by knocking them off balance.

Oliver fought furiously, until the muscles in his arms burned and he was gasping for breath, and then his master overtook him with the simplest of thrusts and left him sprawling on the ground again. Oliver stayed down this time, panting, watching the sky.

"You, come and show me what you have learned."

Yao Fei beckoned Sara now, stepping back to widen the arena. Oliver dragged himself up against the nearest tree and mopped sheets of sweat from his face, appreciating the cold air, the soft breeze, the isolation of this faraway clearing. It was safer to practice here, on the far side of the island, where the cracking of their weapons could not be heard over the ocean.

Sara walked forward cautiously, fingering the staff Yao Fei had made for her. It was smaller, a starter edition, to initiate her thin arms, but it was no less painful to be hit with. She usually sparred with Oliver and he kept the painful lessons to a minimum. Since they had started their lessons, she had gotten leaner and more confident. She met challenges enthusiastically and learned quickly. It was no wonder she had fit in with the League of Assassins so well. She was a natural.

They circled each other. Oliver watched her footwork, glad she was finally putting her weight on the balls of her feet – sort of walking, sort of gliding.

Yao Fei lashed out first, testing her reactions, and Sara dodged backwards with her left shoulder, and brought her staff around with her right. Yao Fei deflected the blow effortlessly, but did not strike back. He danced backward instead, and waited for her to attack. Sara took the bait and lunged, swinging her staff in a broad arch, which Yao Fei sent cruising harmlessly away. She staggered under the weight of her own assault, and the master delivered his first blow.

It hit her on the shin, making her crumple and cry out in pain. Oliver was on his feet in an instant, ready to put a stop to the fight, but Sara was only disoriented for a moment. She swung her staff again, gripping it about the middle, and took Yao Fei's legs out from under him.

He hit the ground laughing. Oliver had never heard him laugh.

Sara was glowing. "I did it!"

"You are quite the opportunist," Yao Fei responded, getting back to his feet.

Sara bounced up, prancing toward Oliver. "So, I guess I'm the best student now."

Oliver smiled, groaning as he stood. His shoulder still pained him constantly, but it was much worse when he rested. It got stiff and seemed to set like concrete.

"We should return to the cave," Yao Fei announced, like he did every evening. It got dark very quickly on the island and navigating over the sea cliffs at night could be a death sentence.

Oliver was glad to get back, because his dad always elected to stay at the cave. Some days Oliver would make the hike several times to reassure himself that his father was still safe. Robert refused to join in on their training, but he often smelled of sweat when they returned. Oliver thought this was more about Robert refusing to believe his _story_ than to acknowledge how useful Yao Fei's lessons were.

Robert was sitting in the cave when they returned, fiddling with the front of his shirt and pretending he hadn't noticed their arrival.

"It will be soon. It must be." Yao Fei handed his bow to Oliver, pointing outside. He was speaking his own native language, one that he and Oliver could understand but the others only puzzled at. "You will train until your hands bleed."

He said as much to Sara, too, and sent her out with some throwing knives. She and Oliver stood back to back and tested their marksmanship, occasionally switching weapons, as the evening set in and darkness obscured their targets. With the moonlight to guide him, Oliver took to aiming at tree branches, watching them shiver in the light wind, watching the silver grow bolder.

Sara stopped him when his quiver was nearly empty, showing him one of the knives. She was frowning. "I broke it."

Oliver touched the old metal, "It was ancient, anyway."

"Ollie…"

He waited, and then asked, "What?"

"What was I like? In the future, I mean."

"Wild, and dangerous," Oliver said, smiling at the thought of her. "I told you already."

"You said I was a hero, the Canary, black and then white… but _who_ was I?"

Oliver paused, curious, and handed her the bow, correcting her stance when she drew an arrow back. "You were… great. You were fun, and loyal, and everyone loved you."

Sara drew the string back, putting a fair amount of strength into the string. Her arrow quivered midair and missed the silvery tree she had been burying knives in. Oliver retrieved it and stood beside her, helping her stay steady with the bow drawn.

"Just breathe," Oliver told her.

Sara asked, "Did you?" as she released it, and the arrow struck the base of the tree, missing the target but burying itself almost halfway in the old roots.

Oliver handed her another arrow. "Did I what?"

"Love me?"

Sara looked at him seriously, curiously, as she pulled the string back again. Oliver wondered just what she was asking him, but answered honestly anyway, "Yes."

She hit the roots again, and sighed. "Arrows are stupid."

"You just need more practice. Archery takes years to learn." Oliver took the bow back, twisting it in his hand. "Bows are good as short range weapons, too. No one expects it."

Sara studied him with those lovely blue eyes, reminding him how true his words were. She took the bow, mimicked the twist he did, and nodded to herself. This time her voice was quieter, muted, without her usual confidence, "Was I really a hero, Ollie?"

"Yes," he said, without hesitation.

"If we get off this island, I want to be that person you knew. I want to be like her."

"You already are."

XxX

XxX

XxX

 **Star City.**

Everything was burning. Oliver had hoped the local news report was exaggerating, but the whole festival had gone up in flames. Orange and red overwhelmed the cool, musical colors, adding a strange light to the dusk sky and blazing in the faces of fleeing citizens.

Juggernaut walked through the flames, barely noticing them, pursuing a crowd that no doubt contained his next target. Oliver met him near the river, where the flames dimmed.

"Stop!" Oliver commanded, drawing the attention of the monster.

Juggernaut paused for half a second, seemed to refocus, and walked instead toward Oliver. He did not like to be challenged, particularly by Oliver, who kept showing up wherever he went.

His enemy came at him swinging, unnaturally fast for someone so large, but Oliver had been training twice as hard lately and it paid off in his speed. He dodged a punch, jumped back, and hit his opponent with the broad end of his bow. It was like punching concrete. Juggernaut brought his other arm down, nearly catching Oliver on the head, but Oliver spun behind him and stuck an exploding arrow to his back. He ran, detonated it, and waited.

Juggernaut appeared out of the smoke cloud made by the arrow, increasing the pace of that insidious walk of his. He was angry. Good.

"Why are you doing this?" Oliver asked, staying smartly out of range of the trench-coat-clad villain. "Why did you kill those women? Who are you? What do you want?" When he got no response, Oliver raised his voice, backing down the shore of the river. "Everywhere you go, everyone you target, I'll be there to stop you. I can't let you keep hurting people."

Juggernaut slowed infinitesimally, a towering black figure outlined against a flaming background, and his face seemed more visible within his cloak. It could have been human.

"Her," Juggernaut said, simply.

"Who?" Oliver asked.

"Her!" His voice was thick, like his entire throat was made of scar tissue. "I have to find her."

And then he moved quickly and unexpectedly toward Oliver, showing more agility than he ever had. Oliver was not fast enough this time.

Juggernaut grasped his arm and slammed him to the ground, knocking the breath out of him. Oliver was suddenly fixated on his face, that blackness beyond the mask. Something sharp entered his belly, skewering him, and he still couldn't look away.

"I have to find her," Juggernaut repeated, and then threw Oliver sideways.

And the river swallowed him.


	11. Dry Run

**Chapter 11.**

 **Dry Run.**

Oliver focused on the ground in front of him, trying to keep his mind off of the future. He had been having nightmares every night, where he found himself running from an unstoppable foe, where he lost everyone and everything he loved. He often woke in the middle of the night, dripping sweat, just as exhausted as when he had laid down to sleep. He spent his days sleepwalking, trying to discipline his mind, to become as resilient as he once was.

But his brain, like his body, needed training. Simple things scared him. He got butterflies in his stomach at the beginning of sparring matches. He was anxious and miserable.

It was not the time for that now. Oliver forced himself onward, his calves burning as the terrain changed dramatically every hundred yards or so. It was a frigid day on the island and a heavy fog hung over the trees, obscuring the travelers from anyone who might be watching. It also clung to his body, weighing down his limbs, wetting his long hair, chilling him to the bone.

His companion barely noticed the cold. Yao Fei moved in graceful silence, his footfalls barely a rustle on the forest floor. He had his green hood pulled up over his face, his bow ready in his hand, a posture akin to that of a stalking leopard.

It was the day he would face the man who killed his mother.

Oliver had been preparing for this since he stepped foot on the island. He knew Slade was here, living in that downed plane, waiting for Yao Fei so they could hijack the incoming supply plane and fly off this godforsaken island – but now he was going to see him again, in his unaltered state, before he was driven mad by grief and vengeance. It was a fascinating, horrifying prospect.

Robert and Sara were at the cave, where Oliver knew Fyers would never find them – it was the one place on the island that seemed safe. Sara had argued that she should go with them for backup, but Oliver shut that idea down. His life was the only one he wanted on the line today.

His only companion would not take no for an answer, and Oliver couldn't blame him. Oliver had proposed they recruit Slade to help rescue Shado. If something went wrong, Yao Fei could lose his daughter. Nothing would keep him away. He wanted to take her back, and then wait for the supply plane to come. Oliver wanted to be off the island before that happened, mistrusting the variables that plan presented. If he was going to get everyone out alive, it would have to be a sure thing. No guesswork, no risks. Not this time.

He was thinking of that plan, trudging along, calves burning and eyes heavy, when Yao Fei suddenly slowed to walk by his side.

"You said you loved her."

He spoke Mandarin, in a low tone that could barely be heard above the gentle rustle of the trees. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes were searching.

Oliver responded simply, "I did."

"What happened to her?"

He was asking about the future, something he did not do often. Yao Fei had his own beliefs about what had happened to Oliver to bring him here, and he seemed to want to hear as little about their fates as possible. It was like he knew how terrible it had all been.

But when it came to questions about Shado, the future was grim. Oliver was reluctant to tell him, to crush him with that knowledge.

Oliver responded delicately, "Something that will never happen again."

He could not see his reaction.

Just like that, the two men were not alone. Something flew from the trees and hit Yao Fei in the side of the head, so hard that the _crack_ of his skull was like gunfire. Yao Fei hit the ground.

Oliver spun to find the source, but only saw trees. He was tackled from behind, slammed down into the dirt. Every alarm was going off in his head. He strived for survival, struggling with all his might, thrusting his elbows back, headbutting the nearest solid object, twisting and throwing his weight around until he managed to move.

He spun himself and his attacker into a ravine and went head-over-feet through the brush. When he stopped, he went up on all fours, looking desperately to the top of the hill. Yao Fei was being dragged away, clearly unconscious.

Oliver tried to climb, desperate, like an animal scrambling for freedom, but his attacker was on him again in an instant. He was trying to restrain him, to get his arms behind his back.

His days training paid off. Oliver pulled his arms forward, overpowering the mercenary on his back, and then struck an elbow into his gut. When his attacker fell off, Oliver whipped around and reversed their roles, clambering on top of him, groping at his belt for a gun.

He got his hand on it and the mercenary, a broad-faced Hispanic man, realized all at once that the battle was lost.

Oliver drew the gun back, fired once between them, right into his chest, and then shoved the man away. He got a better angle and fired again, ending his life with a headshot. It was that easy, that quick. In the span of thirty seconds he had taken his first life in this body.

He shook that thought away and, gun in hand, ran up the ravine.

Yao Fei was gone, but there were more mercenaries around, shouting to one another and making noise in the brush.

Oliver pushed away his thoughts of his companion and focused on saving himself, fleeing toward the nearest river. He was nearly there when two more mercenaries caught his scent and cut him off. Oliver was quicker than them, getting two shots into the neck and head of one, and then a shot through the cheek to another. Oliver wheeled when he heard another approaching from behind, ready to put a bullet into them, but this man was much closer than he had expected.

The mercenary lashed out with a machete, catching Oliver across the chest. It was like being cut in half, like someone had set his chest on fire. For a brief, precious second, his conscious mind shut down, and the fire ran rampant inside.

But the moment ended, and Oliver gained control again. He reached out, fearless, reckless, for the machete, and grappled with the mercenary. His palm was opened up, gushing blood, but he managed to turn the weapon around. He overpowered the other man, wielding the weapon while it was still firmly in his hands, and slashed him across the throat. Oliver held him by the wrists and flung him away, as far as he could manage, and heard a splash as the man hit the river.

More were coming. Their feet were like thunder in the quiet forest.

Oliver was ready, panting like an animal, his heart racing. He turned all around, searching for an enemy, rubbing the grip of his gun into his shredded palm.

But there was no chance to fight. He was dragged to the ground by a heavy black net, his legs folding awkwardly, and the gun pinned beneath his hand. He could barely see the forest, barely move, barely hear anything above his own hammering heart. But he knew he was done. It was over. He was captured.


	12. Fyers

**Chapter 12.**

 **Fyers.**

Oliver woke up all at once with a stinging sensation in his head. Colors and sunlight blinded him, but most overwhelming was the distinct scent of burning flesh. He was in a tent, tall and wide, with open burlap sides where the faces and weaponry of mercenaries could be seen in little snippets as the wind blew. His toes brushed sand, but he was suspended, tied to a crucifix by his wrists. He had two companions in his new prison, the curious looking Fyers and his burly mask-wearing friend, who was no doubt Billy Wintergreen.

He pieced together the situation in seconds, deciding that he was captured, he was going to be tortured for information, and that he was not talking. His body may have been weak and young, but his mind had grown strong again.

"Welcome back to the waking world," Fyers said, and his voice brought back the awful memories of what he had done. He was the image of Yao Fei with a hole in his forehead.

His captor circled him, looking him up and down, not bothering to hide his curiosity.

"You killed four of my men quite… efficiently." Fyers stopped in front of him, giving greater scrutiny to his chest. Oliver looked down and found a mighty slash peeling open his skin, from his shoulder to his belly button. He remembered the machete, how it felt like fire as the blade touched him, but the pain had not come yet. "What is your name?"

Oliver sensed an opportunity.

"Oliver Queen."

"How did you get to this island?"

"I was sailing… my yacht sank. I was in a lift raft and I washed up on this island. Some crazy Chinese guy gave me food… Where is this? Did you come here to find me?"

Fyers glanced doubtfully at Wintergreen, and then looked back at Oliver with unmistakable malice in his blue eyes. "Do I look stupid to you?"

"Uh, no, I-"

"You expect me to believe you're just some lost kid, in the wrong place at the wrong time? I saw what you did to those men, Mr. Queen. You have training. What are you? A spy? Who sent you?"

Oliver tried his best to diffuse the situation, but it was obvious Fyers was never going to believe his ruse. He had been training for weeks. He was slim and muscular, covered in old bruises and battle scars. He may be young on the surface, but what about his eyes? He was still himself underneath. He was still the Oliver Queen that had lived a full life after this island.

But still, he tried.

"I don't know what you mean. I didn't kill anyone. It was that crazy-"

"Your friend, the 'crazy Chinese guy,' was in custody when they were killed. He broke free and disappeared into the jungle. It was you, on your own. Now stop playing games!"

His voice boomed, and Oliver did not flinch. Fyers saw that. He seemed to pick up on everything.

"Who are you? What are you doing on this island?"

"I told you. I was on a life raft. He saved me. I-"

"Your lies are testing my patience," Fyers snapped. He stepped back, motioning his companion forward. "Loosen his tongue."

Oliver knew what came next.

He looked into the eyes of Billy Wintergreen, visible beyond that familiar mask of his. It was the same mask Slade had donned when he became Deathstroke, the same mask Oliver saw in his nightmares for years after he got off this god-forsaken island. He looked right into it, a cold hatred burning through him, refusing to look away even as he heard a knife being drawn from its sheath, even as he felt a cold blade test the skin on his ribs.

It slid in like he was made of butter, and not rigid muscle. Oliver fought hard not to flinch. His whole body stiffened as the blade plunged deeper and deeper, between two ribs, setting off every nerve as it passed. His body trembled with the force of his resistance.

Oliver locked his jaw and stared ahead, picturing a sunny beach with waves lapping at the shore. He forced himself into that place, into that thought, as the blade came again and again. Somewhere far away he heard himself screaming, shrieking, as he felt the worst pain of his young life, but he forced himself away from it. It was his only strength, his only power.

Fyers got very close to him, his breath on his neck, interrupting his ocean scene, and whispered, "Who sent you?"

His words made the ocean slip away. Oliver was brought back into reality. He cried out, and his head dropped. He flexed against his bindings, making the entire structure that held him groan ominously. Ropes cut into his wrists. It went on like that, until each stroke of the blade made Oliver feel as though he could never take another. But he did. He did, and the pain persisted.

Fyers took Oliver by the jaw, forcing his face up. "Who sent you?"

He would not have answered, even if he could bring himself to speak. Oliver only wished he had the energy to spit on this man, to show him how little regard he had for such a monster, but the knife was going in again and the only way to take the pain was to stay gravely still.

Wintergreen foiled his efforts at relief, starting to reopen the cut that the machete had made across his entire chest. He began at the shoulder, running his knife along already irritated nerves, and Oliver squirmed to try to get away from the fiery touch. He made sounds that he had only ever heard from other people – animal, primitive sounds that made Fyers himself stiffen up.

He finally stopped it.

Oliver released his tensed muscles, his head dropping again, the tears in his eyes spilling over to follow the tracks of the wounds on his chest.

"Who sent you?" Fyers repeated, grabbing Oliver by the jaw again and staring fiercely into his face. "You will tell me what I want to know. Believe that."

He stepped away. Oliver watched his feet, watched the sand below him. It was red now. Blood dripped steadily down his chest, down his thighs, dotting his toes. He focused on staying conscious, on listening, with no energy left for escaping the pain.

"Have him patched up," Fyers said. "I want him questioned again when he is able."

Oliver knew a few things by now. He tried to fit them together into a cohesive thought as Wintergreen threw him over his shoulder and carried him out of the tent. He shut his eyes to the harsh sunlight. Yao Fei had escaped. He had escaped, and probably returned to the cave. Robert and Sara would be safe as long as he was still free.

He was dropped onto a springy surface, a foldable cot by the texture of it.

Someone spoke nearby, a woman, "Oh, God, what did you do to him?"

Wintergreen only grunted.

"How am I supposed to…?" Her voice faltered as a weapon was unsheathed. "I mean… I'll do what I can. You just have to give me time. Just give me time."

Oliver tried to open his eyes, but the will was gone.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, over the old arrow wound that had finally scarred over. "Just hold on. I'll give you something for the pain. Just hold on."


	13. Fortitude

**Chapter 13.**

 **Fortitude.**

Oliver was barely awake when he met her for the first time. Her face was heart-shaped, distorted, her eyes dark and sunken. She put her hand over his and pressed a needle into his arm. She said some things, disappeared and reappeared, and hovered until the medicine curbed the pain. It seemed she was waiting for something, but Oliver was too out of it to wonder what it might be.

He saw her again after his second interrogation on the cross. He remained conscious this time, stubborn, while Wintergreen carried him across the beach. He was dumped like a sack of flower on a hard, flat cot, where the woman was waiting.

She hesitated this time, because Oliver was conscious, and Wintergreen took his sweet time strapping him down. He was a flight risk, even in this state. Oliver kept his jaw locked, like he had during his interrogation, until his tormentor had gone. She came to his side – a patch on her chest said 'Joleen' – and put her hand on his again.

Oliver suffered this way for three days. Fyers was convinced he knew something critically important, that he had backup on the island, that he could show him where Yao Fei was hiding, so he insisted he be kept alive. Joleen was there to patch him up, slipping him morphine when no one was looking, and then sitting by his cot with those big, sad eyes, until Wintergreen came for him again. She iced his swelling, stitched his wounds, and whispered over and over that he should just tell them what they want to know. Oliver might have been suspicious that she was just another agent of his, but Fyers treated her harshly and she looked underfed.

It was on the third day, when the morphine and the sips of water she had given him let him think critically for the first time, that he finally spoke to her.

"You have to let me go."

Joleen jumped, almost dropping the tattered book she had been reading by his bedside. He saw a flash of fear in her, like she had not expected her poor, tormented prisoner pet project to have a voice of his own. "You need rest."

"You have to let me go," Oliver repeated, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

It had been three days since his capture, so the men who once lay injured in this tent had either passed on or been put back out to duty. It was just the two of them, and the guards at either door were uninterested. Oliver was strapped to the cot and Joleen weighed all of a hundred pounds.

Joleen had wide, glassy eyes. She stayed bravely near him, "You should tell them what you know so this will end. He _will_ kill you."

"No."

She pressed her lips together, glancing around at the empty tent. "Is it true…? Did you really come here to…? Everyone was talking when they brought you in. Who are you?"

It was a loaded question, and Oliver was suddenly uncertain of the answer. His mission until now had been to get his companions off of this island safely. He couldn't afford to think of anything else. But what about the rest of it? What about the plane and the innocent people who would die when it was shot down? What about the corrupt and vindictive leader of ARGUS, who had ordered these men here? What about the prisoners on the other side of the island, and the darkness living beneath it? He had a wealth of knowledge and no power to utilize it.

Her question stumped him for several seconds, but he managed to find the words.

He whispered, "I came here to help."

Joleen reached out, hesitant, and put her hand over his. She had tears in her eyes. She heard something in those words that he could not have anticipated. "You should have stayed away. Look what they have done to you."

"Flesh wounds. Fyers wants me alive."

She shook her head, withdrawing her hand. "I saw you on that first day, when that monster had his way with you… Whoever you are, you are strong, and loyal. But your strength will mean nothing if he kills you. Just tell him what he wants to know and beg for your life."

"Is that what you did?"

Joleen almost smiled, and the tears persisted. "You remind me of my son. He was a soldier. He was so stubborn. Is that what you are? A soldier?"

"No."

"But you are dangerous. You killed those men. Everyone is whispering about it."

"Let me go. You can come with me. You just have to let me go."

She smiled again, sadly, and tried to give him water. "You are _stubborn_."

"You can call me Oliver."

Joleen withdrew her canteen, clearing her throat. "I wish you had stayed quiet. It would be easier if I had never heard your voice. You have a whole life ahead of you, if you would just…"

"If I tell Fyers what he wants to know, he'll kill me."

Joleen nodded sadly, sitting back in her ragged old chair and staring blankly at the tent wall.

Oliver turned to look at the ceiling, "How did you get here?"

She glanced around, making sure they were still being ignored, and whispered, "I am a doctor. I was working with a relief program and I was… kidnapped. I remember being on a boat. I was brought here to do this… to keep the men healthy."

"So, you have no idea who they are?"

"I hear things. I know that Fyers wants you to tell him about someone hiding out in the mountains, but you refuse."

"Are you loyal to him?"

Joleen flashed him a dangerous look. "He has made me do this to you – he is a _monster_."

"Let me go, then."

"You cannot go anywhere. You can barely walk."

"I can walk. I can run." Oliver flexed, reassuring himself that his muscles were in working order. He could push his body to extremes to escape capture. He just needed someone to untie him.

She looked doubtfully at his chest, which was bisected by an angry red gash.

"Flesh wounds," he repeated.

Joleen almost smiled again. "I can take the worst of the pain away for now, so you can sleep." She reached in her pocket, looking around to make sure no one was watching, and uncapped a needle.

Oliver found his inspiration in that moment.

"Give me more."

"Is the pain very bad?"

"No. I want you to give me an overdose. Slow my heart. Force me into respiratory depression. Fyers will think the injuries finally killed me. Do you have narcan here?"

Joleen stood and backed up, looking panicked, "No. I can't…"

Oliver strained against his bindings, trying to keep his eyes on her as she moved away. "Please. You're not a killer. I can see it. You're a healer. If I slip and tell Fyers what he wants to know, I'm dead. I promise you, I'm dead. And dozens more people will die. I need you to save me – to save them. I need you to be brave."

She stood her ground. "I can't…"

"You can. You can. You have to."

She left the tent.

Oliver found himself alone, murmuring to himself. "You have to." His pleading reached no one. He knew that he would never tell Fyers where his friends were hiding, but once he was dead, did they really stand a chance of getting off this island?

He lay there for hours, soaking in his defeat, before Joleen returned.

She sat by his side, her eyes red and puffy, and put her hand on his again. A needle slipped into his arm and burning liquid entered his veins. When it was done, she withdrew the needle, adjusted his bandages, and started toying with something at the foot of his cot.

She was shaking.

"I put it in your shirt pocket. But you will never be able to use it in time."

Oliver knew the risks. He could only hope his allies would be watching the camp, waiting for them to dispose of his body. He was taking a lot on faith here, but he had no choice.

He began to feel sleepy, heavy, like he had just woken from a deep dream. He began to lose his anticipation, his anxiety, and the pain that had plagued him for three days. He no longer worried that this escape attempt would kill him, or that others would die if his mission failed. He saw stars, felt warm and fuzzy all over, and let the medicine carry him away.

But he heard her voice, loud in his ears but probably only a whisper across the room.

"I think he will kill me for this."

It was the last thing he heard.


	14. Undying

**Chapter 14.**

 **Undying.**

Oliver had never dreamt so vividly as he dreamt on the island. He saw deep blue oceans and titanic waves thrashing against rocks. He saw blood rolling in a stream toward the beach, and felt the sun beating down on his neck. Past and present meant nothing and his life all seemed to be happening at once. Every peaceful moment was interrupted by screaming and flames, the sound of Juggernaut stomping through the city streets, the feeling of dread in the prey as the hunter closes in. He could almost escape, almost be free, but then the trap would close again.

He woke feeling hopeless and did not open his eyes. Parts of him were still asleep, still dreaming, clinging to the good memories to shut the darkness out. He was tired. In a brief moment of madness, he hoped that he was dead, that none of his nightmares could come to pass. But the aching in his chest made it obvious that he had survived.

Sara was nearby. She kept a hand on his forehead, and every now and then she would whisper gibberish into his ear. She was the only one with a touch that gentle, a voice that sweet. She was telling him to wake up, he knew, but he slept a while longer.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the cave ceiling, dancing with midday light. It seared his eyes, but he kept them open, resisting the drive to sleep again.

Sara leaned over him immediately, but there was no smile on her lips. She looked sad and tired. She stroked his hair and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Stay still, Ollie, okay?" She looked away, calling out, "He woke up! Hey, he's awake!"

Robert appeared, followed by Yao Fei, and the two men looked just as grim as Oliver felt. His father stroked his hair like Sara had, and murmured, "Stay still, son."

He knew why they wanted him to stay still, but he fought against it. He flexed his arms, making sure they were all still attached, and wiggled his toes. Wintergreen had not taken any limbs last time he was on the island, but he had not been quite this brutal, either. Oliver was at fault for that. He had taken on those men like a warrior, not a scared castaway. Fyers wanted to know who he was and what he was doing on the island.

But even this fresh hell that had been inflicted on him was not enough to break him. Oliver was strong. His will was iron. He flexed his arms, felt the searing pain, and battled through it.

Yao Fei was the only one who seemed to grasp what he was doing. He had that intense look in his eyes again, the expression that only he could wear, and he waited patiently until Oliver could focus on him to speak. His voice came in rhythmic Mandarin, gracious and gentle. "You did not tell them how to find us. You are a loyal man."

It was a pain to move his arm, but Oliver fought through it. He grasped Yao Fei on the shoulder and tried on a smile that must have looked more like a grimace. "We were brothers once. We can be brothers again."

Yao Fei nodded briskly, not typically a man to show any emotion, and sat on his knees by Oliver. "I need to redress your wounds. Stay very still."

Oliver did as he said, grinding his teeth to dust while the warrior spread a leafy poultice over his entire chest. It was like being slowly set on fire. When one part of his skin cooled, another was engulfed with flame. It went on and on until he lost even the will to keep grinding his teeth.

Sara stayed by his head, holding him still as much as she was comforting him. She was getting tougher already. She locked her jaw and pressed on his shoulders, watching Yao Fei work without flinching. She found soothing words to say to Oliver, and questions for Yao Fei, and seemed nothing like the young girl Oliver had plucked out of the ocean.

His father was the one who stood apart. Robert was not squeamish, but he refused to look at his son, and seemed uptight and angry.

"Who are these people?" Robert spoke at last when Yao Fei was laying broad leaves across the wounds, only glancing at Oliver before turning to glare at the warrior. "Why do they want you so bad? What did you do to them?"

"Dad-" Oliver said.

"Look at what they did to him, because of _you_. You did this!" Robert growled.

Yao Fei was looking, but he showed no sign of guilt, like the guilt that seemed to be eating Robert alive. "It is not my choice, what other men do. What of your crimes? Why do you avoid looking at your son? What did you do, to get him here?"

Robert was fuming, "How dare you-?"

Oliver saw it now. He knew why his father was so frustrated. He had gotten on that yacht with every intention of betraying Malcolm, of trying to stop the Undertaking. He had let Oliver come with him on this dangerous errand – something only necessary because of the awful things he had done in the city he claimed to love. Oliver would have never made it to the island, never met Yao Fei and Slade Wilson, never lost his hope, his humanity, his innocence, if not for his father's crimes. Yao Fei had no way of knowing that, yet he read Robert like a book.

His accusation, his implications, took Robert off-guard, and he spluttered. He looked at Oliver and a panicked guilt flooded is expression. "I never… It was never supposed to…"

"Dad," Oliver said again, firmer this time, with no room for interruption. He had never had room to blame his father for what'd he done, because Robert had given his life the first time around. But now he was alive. He was alive, and his crimes lived with him. What was he supposed to say in a moment like this?

Yao Fei finished applying the leaves and stood up, ready to take his leave of them.

"Wait," Oliver tried to sit up, but felt the leaves crinkle and relaxed again. Sara held his head in her lap, frowning. "Wait, Yao Fei, how long was I out?"

"No more than a day." Yao Fei's eyes flicked to Sara and then Robert, and he switched to Mandarin, "I found you floating in the river, barely alive. How did you survive?"

"I made a friend, I think."

Yao Fei nodded. "You are good at that. Your friend saved your life."

"Is the plan still the same?"

"I am going to give you something to put you to sleep, to let your body heal. When you are well, we will talk of a plan."

"But-"

"We have time, still. I need all of your strength. You must sleep."

Oliver took the offered herbs and stared at the ceiling. Soon, the aching would start. It was best to be asleep for that to help him recover more quickly. He wanted to be up and moving as soon as possible – he had people to protect and a plane to steal.

Sara stayed by his side, letting him rest his head in her lap, stroking his forehead, brushing her fingertips along his numb hands. She had no way of knowing what their conversation was about, but she got the gist of it from his tone.

"We'll get out of here," she said. "I promise. We'll get home. We have to."

XxX

XxX

XxX

 **Star City.**

It was cold in the bunker, the way he preferred it. It helped chase away the sting of his bruises and it kept his mind sharp. It let him think as long as he dared on the conundrum he faced. He stood in front of the digital board they had created, reading over the sparse information they had on the enemy. It was not enough. He was tired of being outplayed.

But no matter how long he stared at the board, he found no answers. What was the Juggernaut? Where did he come from? Who was he looking for? How could they stop him? He was a monster, and even Oliver could not look into his mind.

"See anything new?"

Sara came around the corner, standing by his side and mimicking his posture. She had her own bruises from encountering their enemy, dotting her face and arms.

He shook his head, even though she was mocking him. She thought it was silly, standing here for hours staring at this unchanging information. She preferred to train, to track the Juggernaut, and to help the others pour through historical accounts looking for any mention of it.

"There has to be something," Oliver said, like he did every day. "Something I missed…"

"Or there's nothing, and you're just wasting your time." Sara retrieved a bo-stick from a nearby rack and tapped his shoulder with it. "Come on. At least take a break."

She swung for him, an attack Oliver would have dodged if it got anywhere near him. But the stick disappeared before it made contact – in a flash of red light. And standing there in the next moment, twirling the stick around like it was a toy, was Barry Allen.

Sara glared at him. "Cheater."

"Barry," Oliver greeted, barely looking up from the board. "Felicity called you?"

"Only because she thinks you guys are fighting a meta. Which I agree with." Barry tossed the stick back to Sara and came to stand with Oliver, scanning the board. "What can you tell me about it?"

"We call him the Juggernaut." Oliver pointed at a clear picture of the Juggernaut striding down an alley. "He can walk through walls and nothing seems to slow him down. We tried grenades, poison, bullets, everything we could think of. He just keeps going."

"Felicity said he only kills women." Barry frowned at the pictures on the board – four women the team had failed to save so far.

"He's looking for someone."

Oliver looked at the women, too, and remembered how close he had come to getting his picture on this wall. But as efficient as Juggernaut was at killing, Oliver had been spared over and over. The last time the Juggernaut got his hands on him, he stabbed him in the belly and tossed him into a river. Oliver had woken an hour later on the bank, perfectly alive. It was like the Juggernaut was toying with him, dangling him off a ledge only to drop him into a safety net. He had given no such mercies to any of his other enemies.

He told Barry what he could, agreeing that he could feasibly be a meta, but doing his best to impress caution on the younger hero. It was hard to put into words just how chilling this monster was. Or was it only Oliver who experienced it that way?

"Everything dies, Ollie," Sara said, as she had a hundred times that week. "We just have to find his weakness."

"Juggernaut is different," Oliver insisted, his constant counter to her words.

Barry was frowning at the board. "I want to get close to him, get some data for my team."

"Never let him touch you." Oliver retreated, leaving the two of them there to discuss the best way to get close to the enemy without dying by his hand. He was tired of getting close. He wanted to put an arrow through that black hood.

He wanted the Juggernaut dead at his feet.


	15. A Dark Road

**Chapter 15.**

 **A Dark Road**.

Oliver woke to the sound of someone screaming. It brought him back many years, to the sounds a general made when the back of a hammer tore through his eye socket. He sat up, jarred out of his dreams, disoriented and afraid. It was dark and warm, and it smelled like blood.

He was in the cave.

When he saw the rough ceiling up above, the crack of light in the doorway, his panic was lessened. Sara was right beside him, her hands firm on his shoulders as she tried to get him to lay back down. His father and Yao Fei were crowded around something lying on the floor, near the front of the cave, just far enough to make Oliver squint to figure out what it was.

It was a man, a mercenary.

He wore gray-and-yellow fatigues, the only discernable part of him left. He had been beaten so his face swelled, his eye sockets bulging. Blood ran freely from a cut on his scalp. His hands were bound too tightly against his chest, his legs tied together, allowing little movement. He lay face down, but strained upward, sputtering blood onto the cave floor.

Oliver only managed to say, "What?"

Yao Fei looked back at him, but Robert barely looked away from the captive.

"What are you doing?" Oliver shrugged away from Sara, who was trying to murmur something comforting to him to keep him still. He ignored the ache in his body, driven to action by this awful scene in front of him. "Where did he come from?"

"We found him on patrol," Robert said, finally looking at his son. He looked haunted. "He knows where the girl is."

"I looked for Shado when you were taken, but she was not where you said she would be," Yao Fei supplied, appearing eerily calm despite the blood on his hands.

With that, as if that short explanation was enough for what they were doing, the two men turned back to their captive. Yao Fei began twisting an arrow in his gut and the man screamed. He fought against his bindings to no avail. His mangled pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears.

Oliver forced himself upright, unsteady on his feet. Sara appeared at his side. "Stop, _stop_!" His pleas, too, went unanswered. He leaned heavily on Sara, feeling the strength ebb out of him one breath at a time. He had lost a lot of blood and there was no quick recovery from that. "Stop this! Dad!"

It went on as Oliver hobbled across the room. He finally got a hand on Yao Fei and the archer shook him off effortlessly.

Oliver shouted, "Listen to me!"

Finally, the archer relented. He released the arrow and let the captive sink to the ground. Oliver had to wonder how much time had passed and how much had transpired while he recovered, because his father and Yao Fei seemed to move as one. When they looked at him, Oliver felt their desperation – Yao Fei for his daughter, and Robert for his son.

"He will tell me where Shado is," Yao Fei said simply.

"I know you're afraid. I know that." Oliver put his hand on the archer again, as much for his own stability as it was to make a point. "I know that. But this will get you nowhere. You have to know that torture is useless. It's useless."

Yao Fei clenched his jaw but said nothing.

"If we get the girl back we can leave this island," Robert said, frowning at Oliver like he had suddenly grown a second head. "You need to rest."

Oliver looked at his father with the same lack of recognition, and had to remind himself, again, that he had never made it to this island with Robert before. Had he ever really known him? Had he ever met the real man? Yes. He had. Oliver found himself looking down to his father's hands, which shook against his jacket. Sometimes men did bad things out of desperation, out of fear.

He looked away from his father, to the archer who had been staring intently into his face. He spoke his native tongue, to add depth to his words. "I know where this road leads. I took it the first time and it almost broke me. I will help you find Shado. I swear this to you. But this is not the way."

It seemed he had finally broken through. Yao Fei looked down at the captive, and that cold resolve in his eyes faltered. "Fyers will regret ever laying a hand on my daughter."

"He will. We will _make_ him pay." Oliver moved around, switching positions with Yao Fei to put himself between the captive and his tormentors. "Just let me handle this, okay? Just trust me."

"You ask for so much trust," Yao Fei commented, plucking his bow from the ground and slipping it over his back. "I can only give so much."

He left the cave, left them all alone with the captive who barely had a face anymore. Oliver sunk down to his knees, and Sara ended up beside him, holding his arm to keep him from going face-first into the ground. He appreciated her efforts, because the sight of the beaten man was disturbing. She could hardly look in his direction. Robert ambled away as well, leaving the cave several minutes after Yao Fei had gone, without a glance backward.

"I need to know what you know," Oliver said quietly to the captive, who finally seemed to be resting. His face was on the stone, blood dripping down his nostrils.

One veiny blue eye popped open and stared at him, but he said nothing.

"Rest, for now. But I need to know where the girl is." He glanced at Sara, and then leaned closer to the captive, whispering so that only he could hear. "I promise those two won't hurt you again – but I will. I can show you where that line between life and death is and keep you there. Remember that for our next conversation."

Oliver drew away, and let Sara help him back to his makeshift pallet. He lay on his side, crinkling the wounds on his chest, searing his nerves. But the pain kept him awake. He could not imagine sleeping after what he had seen today. Now he knew his father was capable of standing around, watching a man get tortured, and he knew Yao Fei was capable of doing that kind of damage with no semblance of guilt or compassion. He also knew that he would make good on his threats to the captive man if he did not tell him where Shado was being kept. He wanted to stay off that dark road, to be better than he was, but he would not risk lives to do it.

"I tried to stop them," Sara said softly, after an hour had passed and the captive was asleep. Yao Fei and Robert had not returned. "I tried, but I'm not strong enough."

"Not yet," Oliver agreed.

She almost smiled. She sat up beside him, keeping an eye on the beaten mercenary. "You were talking in your sleep, you know. You said a few names."

"People you know?"

"No. But all women, I think."

Oliver knew exactly what he had said, because his dream had been about the Juggernaut and his victims. He saw women lying on cold autopsy tables, the life gone from their eyes, the color gone from their skin. He heard their names every night.

"If they try to touch him again, wake me," he said, and finally let his eyes droop.

Sara drew a knife into her lap, "Oh, I'll do more than that."


	16. Fissure

**Chapter 16.**

 **Fissure**.

A bo-stick whistled through the air toward his face, but had no chance of hitting him. Oliver ducked, twisted, and caught it on the backswing, yanking it away from his opponent and tossing it into the grass. Sara grunted, frustrated, and lashed out with her hands, palm outward. She was no match for him, not when his mind was on the next challenge. He felt nothing, thought of nothing, except for how he was going to deal with Slade Wilson.

"Maybe we should take a break," Sara panted, dropping her combat stance to retrieve her weapon. He had been pushing her harder and harder every day, until he was sure she could handle the dangers of this island.

But it never felt like enough.

He let her go and went on training when she was gone. He twisted two shortened sticks through the air, twisting and flexing his body to work the ache out of it. His wounds were nearly healed on the outside, the scars crackling with each new position, but they were rubbing raw on the inside. It might have been enough to make him stop, if he were any less determined.

Slade Wilson was a challenge that required his best self. He was the man that Oliver had once called friend. He was a warrior, driven mad by grief and a terrible vial of liquid. His vengeance had not only driven him to attack Oliver, but to kill his mother. Slade had driven a sword through her heart right in front of him – a moment that would never, could never, stop haunting him.

But that was not the same Slade that was here on the island. He was not grieving now, not enhanced by the Mirakuru. He was just a soldier trying to get home to his son.

Oliver was working overtime to give himself a new perspective.

It was going to be different this time. Oliver had already saved his father, already brought Sara with them to the island. And one more thing – Luke. He had never met this captive the first time around. Luke lay suffering in the back of the cave, bound, injured. His presence might have meant nothing, or everything. He could save Shado and Yao Fei, save his father, spare Sara her awful years in the League. He could get Slade home to his family and go home to his mother and sister. He could pull everyone through this time, if only he was strong enough.

So, he trained. He ran until sunset, climbing sturdy trees, finding any way to push himself. He went to the beach at dusk, to the place he had buried his father the first time he was here and stared down at the collection of stones he had put his young hands on to smother the smell of death.

It was in that place, finally, that he let himself rest. He sunk to his knees, looked out at the dimming ocean, and let the burden of his task wash over him.

He was only there a few minutes when he was joined by Sara. She had a habit of following him and ending up wherever he was at the end of the day. But she had never followed him here. He was always careful to check his surroundings.

"Nice rocks," Sara commented, perching on a pile.

Oliver glanced at her – now garbed in a rugged camouflage uniform stolen from one of the patrols they had ambushed – and felt a flicker of pride. "How did you find me?"

"I tracked you. Remember? You taught me that." She smiled, coming over to sit beside him. From here, they had a stunning view of the water, but neither of them was looking at it. Sara was gazing at him, thoughtful, curious, and Oliver was looking down at the rocks, his mind still on the last time he had come here.

Sara picked up on his mood. She always did.

"Was there…? Did something happen here last time?"

It was always strange to talk about the past with Sara, but she was the only one who would listen to him when he did. If not for her faith, he might have lost his mind by now.

"Uh, my dad. He was… he died last time."

"I know." Sara followed his eyes. "Did you bury him here?"

"Yeah."

"But not this time."

"No."

"So why do you keep coming back?"

He shrugged, finally pulling his eyes away. He looked to the ocean instead. "I guess it reminds me of what I lost. It has to be different this time."

"Look, I know you think you're responsible for all of us, but you're not."

He snorted. "I was here-"

"Yeah, yeah, you were here before. Big deal." She took his hand and caught his eyes. "You got us here already. Let us worry about our own lives. You just worry about getting that stupid plane."

Oliver looked away again, because he didn't want to see her face after what he was going to say. "We have to get in touch with Slade. Did I tell you about him?"

"You mentioned him…"

"He killed my mother." Oliver stiffened. It was different to think something than to say it out loud. It also felt strange coming out of his young mouth, when his mother was still alive back home. "Right in front of me – in front of Thea."

Sara said nothing.

"I hated him. I fought him. I imprisoned him right here on this island."

She said nothing.

"I made him into what he was last time. I gave him the Mirakuru."

Sara sat up on her knees and scooted closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a long, warm hug. "But none of that happened here."

"I still have to face him and pretend I've never seen him put a sword through my mom."

"You don't have to face him alone."

Oliver found solace in that. He was not the boy he was the first time he went through this and he was not going to make the same mistakes. He had people to protect, a life to get back to. He had a terrible monster to stop before the city he loved came crumbling down.

He sat there with Sara and stared out at the sea, the dreadful shore, imagining an angry-looking mask hanging on a stake among the pebbles.

XxX

"Barry, no!"

It was a flash of red lightning against an immovable enemy. Juggernaut snatched him out of the air and held him up like a trophy for a brief moment – a moment long enough for Oliver to call his name – before he dealt a devastating blow. Barry snapped like a twig. Oliver raced toward them, but his ally had already been thrown to the ground, and the Juggernaut was ready.

He had killed three people this week. Oliver could no longer keep track of their names. It was not just women in his city, but miles away, in seemingly random, seemingly safe places. Juggernaut was a family decimator, a monster, a murderer.

Oliver struck out with his bow, and the Juggernaut dodged. He fired an arrow into that hood and it stuck there in the blackness. Juggernaut swept his arm around and hit Oliver in the chest, throwing him back twenty feet across the pavement. He came at him with that same insidious walk, a tank slowly crawling toward its goal, and even that was too fast. Oliver was choked up, his whole chest rigid from the hit, trying to scramble upright without proper control of his legs.

Barry got to him before the Juggernaut, taking him to the edge of the parking lot, where a fence seemed enough to stop him. He slumped away from Oliver, clutching his shattered leg.

"Now would be a great time for a plan," Barry gasped.

Oliver loaded an arrow, one that Cisco had made for a desperate moment.

"Whoa, I meant something that's not gonna kill us both!"

"It might take him down, or slow him." Oliver staggered upright, clutching the fence. The Juggernaut was halfway to them, stomping along, his cape fluttering in the wind. "When I shoot this, you have to take us to the other side. Over there, by the opposite fence. Can you do that?"

Barry pulled himself up, one of his legs dangling like a wet noodle, and seemed to brace himself. "Just hold onto me."

Oliver aimed for the hood, where the arrow from before was still sticking out, and flipped the switch on the bomb. It lived on the tip of the arrow, a small, deadly device that would disintegrate anything within fifty feet on impact. It was the last thing that might bring this beast down.

He fired, and then twisted to grab onto Barry. His ally shot off to the other side of the parking lot, racing the arrow to its target. Oliver could see it spiraling, watch it enter the hood.

It went off, and the two of them were separated. Oliver was flung into the fence. He bounced off of it, onto the pavement, and then over a parking barrier. For several seconds, he groped around in an ashy black cloud, his hearing completely shot.

But the ash cleared, and the street lights showed an eerie scene.

Everything in the radius of the bomb was gone, and even the pavement had been stripped in some places. Shopping carts lay in twisted heaps. But the Juggernaut was standing up, looking back at Oliver like they were five feet apart, and not a hundred. He stood there, perfectly still, and then turned and walked off like nothing had happened. It hadn't even hurt him.

There was nothing so devastating as seeing an enemy walk away from a last-ditch effort to put him down.

Oliver limped through the rubble until he found the red and yellow suit of his friend. He pulled a twisted shopping cart off of him and sat on his knees by his side, wincing at that mangled leg. Barry was just stirring.

"Oww," the younger man said, his voice thick.

"We'll get you patched up," Oliver said.

"You were right." Barry slid backward, trying to sit up, and then groaned and laid flat on his back. "You were right. This guy… we've never fought anything like him."

Oliver slipped his arm around Barry and tugged him upward, helping him limp across the lot.

Barry went on, almost frantic, "What if he's unkillable? I mean, what if we can't beat him?"

"We keep trying." Oliver stopped at the first car and leaned Barry against it, catching his breath. "We keep trying until we stop him, or he kills us."

Barry had wide eyes, showing his youth, but he was full of resolve. Years of being a hero had given him intense purpose. "We take this to the end."

"To the end," Oliver agreed. He stood straight again, and they went on limping away from the site of the battle. "I'm sorry I got you into this, Barry."

"We're in this together. Brothers, right?"

Oliver felt a stab of guilt as he looked at his mangled friend, but he agreed anyway.

"Right."


	17. Captive

**Chapter 17.**

 **Captive.**

It was bitterly cold on the island that day. Oliver appreciated it. He had a thousand things on his mind, but overwhelming them all was the image of a mask, half yellow and half black, and a pair of twin blades poised at his throat. Slade Wilson. It was finally time to find him. Oliver made the decision the night before, and ever since, he had been forced to relive his first experience on the island, and the tragedy that had befallen his former friend. Slade had died, and Oliver and Sara, in a panic, had injected him with the Mirakuru serum. It was that moment, that decision, that put Slade on a path to becoming Deathstroke.

He had been over his plans, figuring out contingencies, deciding that he was willing to kill Slade himself if he became a threat. He wondered if they could be friends again, if they could be allies, or if the monstrous version of Slade was too heavily imprinted on Oliver to ever be erased.

He was on the way there now, traversing a mountain ridge that would lead them to the downed plane, with another problem walking single-file in front of him. Luke, the captive. He was not a factor last time. His presence was dangerous, but Oliver could not bring himself to kill him. Luke had seen the cave, so there was no way they could let him go. He had to bring him along on this journey because he didn't trust Robert and Yao Fei around him. Both of them were highly motivated to torture him for information. Oliver was less motivated.

Sara was with them as well, garbed in the black battle suit she had stolen from a patrol they ambushed. It was pulled and pinned to fit her small frame, and the weapon slots had been modified to hold the two halves of her bo-stick. She also wore an automatic rifle across her back.

"Deep breaths," she kept whispering, as she walked directly behind him.

"Stop saying that."

"You're tense.

"We're in enemy territory."

"This whole place is enemy territory. If you meet him looking like you want to kill him, it's not gonna go well. So, try to pretend you're the _real_ Oliver." She paused when Oliver looked back at her, wincing, "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know what you meant."

She meant he was not the same Oliver she had been on the boat with, not the same man she had loved before the storm tore them down.

Luke paused, too, and looked back at them with a horrendously swollen face. "Break, please." His voice was rough and aged.

"Keep moving." Oliver shoved him onward, ignoring a disapproving look from Sara.

Luke stumbled and sunk to one knee, hanging his head. "Please… I can't…"

Oliver groaned, scanning the horizon to make sure they were not in an exposed area, while Sara crouched down in front of their captive and offered him some of her water. Oliver watched over them, wanting to stop her, but also wishing he had done that himself. His thoughts about Slade had consumed him, making even empathy hard to spare.

Sara left Luke with her canteen and came back to Oliver, whispering, "He's in bad shape. They really did a number on him. We need to let him rest."

"He would be in worse shape if we left him behind. He still hasn't given us anything useful."

Sara shook her head, like she was shaking a bad thought. "Are you…? I mean, will you let him go? Eventually?"

Oliver was aware that Luke had paused his drinking to listen to the answer to this question. If he said he was going to kill him, Luke would have nothing to lose. He could become more dangerous, more volatile. But there were other answers, other solutions.

"It depends," Oliver said shortly.

"On what?" Sara pressed.

"We took him to find out where Shado is being held. If he really has no idea, he's useless, and the next chance he gets, Yao Fei will kill him." Oliver kept his eyes on the captive's back, watching his every muscle twitch. "Maybe he knows something else. He could be useful in other ways."

Sara was hiding her horror behind a plain mask. He only saw the upset in her eyes. She was trying hard to be strong, to depart from the soft, scared girl that had landed on the island, but changes like that didn't happen overnight.

Oliver realized suddenly that he was making her change, like the island had made him. It rattled him. He didn't know if he should keep pressing her to change or try to shield her from this darkness. There was no room for innocence on the island.

He barked at Luke, "Get up!"

Luke staggered upright, turning his swollen, misshapen face toward the ridge. Just as he was about to take a step forward, an explosion went off somewhere on the island.

Oliver whipped around just in time to see a plume of black smoke rising above the trees.

It was exactly where they had come from.

"The cave!" Sara cried.

Oliver grabbed Luke and slammed him to the ground, adding a rope to his bindings and strapping him to the nearest tree. His hands trembled as he fiddled with knots. He was thinking about his father, seeing his cold dead eyes, imagining burying him all over again.

And then he was running, streaking through the forest, losing Sara behind him.

Everything happened so fast.

He hit the trail, a well-worn path that traversed the entire island, and heard gunfire. He turned toward it, moving from tree to tree, trying to find the source.

Finally, he saw it.

His father was running downhill, nearly falling with every step, until he hit a big tree trunk and scrambled behind it. He was being pursued by a mercenary in all black, firing a rifle carelessly into the brush.

Oliver ran up the hill, using the explosive sound of gunfire as cover, until he was above the enemy. He came down then, descending like a hunting animal, and leaped onto his back. He wrapped his left arm around his neck and locked it in with his right, squeezing. His weight brought the man straight to the ground.

Seconds passed. The mercenary rolled around, tried to shake him off, but Oliver held on. He gritted his teeth and added pressure.

Robert came out from behind the tree to see what had saved him. He must have said something, but Oliver could not hear him. He only heard the blood pounding in his ears, only felt a pulse beating frantically against his arm.

The mercenary clawed at him, tried to punch him, but in the end, he was just flailing. His pulse got louder, stronger, hammering against Oliver's skin, and then it began to slow.

His fighting became nothing more than death throes. He put his hands on Oliver's arm one last time, but his fingers slipped across the blood he had drawn.

He died.

Oliver released him and shoved him away, gasping. His hearing returned and the world came back into full focus. His father was shouting at him.

"Oliver! Oliver! We have to go! They got Yao Fei!"

Oliver jumped to his feet, staring around and trying to see something other than dense forest. "Where? Where is Yao Fei? Who took him? How many?"

"It's too late. We have to go!"

"We don't leave people behind!" Oliver snapped.

Suddenly there were voices in the forest, stomping boots through leaves, an engine starting up. Oliver struggled, torn between two paths. He had to get his father away from here, and he had to find Sara, but his loyalty to Yao Fei was burning him up.

He backed away, toward the ridge, and glanced in the direction of the beach. _I'll come back for you, brother. I promise._

He left, dragging his father with him. They ran into Sara on the path. She was tying up an unconscious mercenary with nasty welts on his face. Her eyes lit up when they came through the brush and she stopped what she was doing.

"He came out of nowhere," she said, retrieving one of her bo-sticks from the ground and reattaching it to her back. Her lip was bleeding and she was holding her left arm tenderly. She was also trembling violently. It was the first time she had taken someone one-on-one without backup.

Oliver looked down at the captive, thinking of Luke, and thinking of a parade of injured mercenaries walking with them through the mountains. He also thought of Yao Fei, and his heart grew cold toward these people.

He stepped up, ripped the knife from Sara's belt, and drove it through the man's temple.

Sara shrunk back in horror, "Why did you…? How could you…?"

Oliver drew his knife from its victim and wiped it off on his pants, standing face-to-face with Sara, at a very personal distance. He grasped her belt with one hand and shoved the knife back into its sheath with the other, never dropping eye contact with her. She was staring at him like he was a stranger, but that tremble was gone. Inside, there was fire.

"No more captives," Oliver stated.

Sara looked down at the body, a little more of that innocence leaving her eyes. "We could have left him here! We could have traded him for Yao Fei!"

"We have to go. Now." Oliver did not look at the body. He could see the flash of crimson in the corner of his eyes and that was enough. "No more talk until we get back to the ridge."

Sara tried to say something.

Oliver cut her off, "Go!"

It was a quiet, stiff march back to the ridge. Oliver tried to find the words to explain his rash choice, but Sara didn't seem open to an explanation. She walked stiffly behind him, fiddling with the knife sheath. He wondered if she would take it off and leave the knife behind.

Luke was still tied to his tree, but wiggling around like he was trying to escape.

Oliver strode up to him and Sara jumped between them. She tried to shove Oliver backward, but she wasn't strong enough yet. Oliver had to stop before he barreled through her.

"Hey! Enough killing!" she shouted.

Oliver drew his knife and felt a flash of pride as her hand went to her own. "I was going to cut him free," he said, calm as he could. "We're bringing him with us."

She looked doubtful, untrusting. "Why?"

"Like I said, he might be useful to us." Oliver stepped around her, to the captive. Luke was watching him carefully, hanging on every word. "If you want to live, you will do everything I say. If you step out of line, I'll kill you."

Luke stared into his face, and nodded.

It took three more hours to navigate down the ridge to the clearing. Oliver kept the others back when they caught sight of the plane. He hid them in a dense patch of trees, ignoring protests from his father and Sara, and went on by himself.

He only wished Yao Fei were there with him, to make this introduction easier.

Oliver stepped inside the hollow barrel of the plane, dredging up conflicted memories of the time he spent here. He remembered the first time, when he was young and afraid, when Yao Fei had left him with a map and the hope that he would find this place.

He was in the center when he heard a rustle up above, and then someone hit the ground behind him. Two swords came around and crossed against his neck.

"Twitch, and I'll open your throat."


	18. Slade

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is a little short. I do want to ask what everyone thinks of Slade Wilson as a character in the show. I personally like him and think he was a great character before the serum, and a great villain afterwards.**

 **XxX**

 **Chapter 18.**

 **Slade.**

Oliver put his hands up, rejecting all of his instincts. He had two blades crossed against his throat, and the breath of a terrible enemy rolling down his neck. His body filled with adrenaline, with the desire to react, and it took all of his self-control to stand there waiting.

"How many more are with you?"

"W-What?" Oliver stuttered, forcing fear into his voice.

Slade hissed in his ear. "You have ten seconds to tell me something I'll believe before I cut out your voice box."

He had one shot at this.

"Yao Fei sent me!" he cried.

Slade stiffened behind him, one of the blades moving half an inch and grazing the very surface of the skin on his throat. And then the swordsman jumped back, shoving Oliver away from him. He pointed one sword at his face, scowling. " _What_?"

"Yao Fei told me where to find you," Oliver said, staying as still as he could. He looked long into a familiar face, fascinated, again, by the changes in him. Slade looked like a desperate mercenary, young again. He was intense, but sane. "He told me about the supply plane, and the recon, and everything… but…"

"He was captured." Slade lowered his sword at last. "I saw them dragging him across the beach."

Oliver quelled a flash of rage, remembering how it had gone down the last time. He had lost more than one friend to Fyers.

"We came to ask for help," Oliver went on.

" _We_?" Slade growled.

Oliver tensed. "We were shipwrecked. Yao Fei helped us survive."

"How many? Where?"

"Three more. I left them in the woods in case… in case you stabbed first and asked questions later. And I thought if it was just me it would be less threatening."

Slade studied him, his fist clenching around his blade, and then he nodded. "You're a smart kid. We need smart."

Suddenly, he drew his blade back and slashed. Oliver jumped backward, avoiding the whistling tip by mere inches. He grabbed the closest weapon – a long, serrated knife – and parried the next blow. Slade was strong, almost stronger than he remembered, but he was strong as well. He matched him blow-for-blow, acting on instinct, not thinking.

"Shipwrecked, huh?" Slade snapped, lunging violently again and nearly catching Oliver across his outstretched forearm. "Who are you?"

"I told you!" Oliver yelled, dodging a swipe, and shoving Slade backward. "Yao Fei has been training me." A lie. "I was shipwrecked here, and he helped me survive!"

He stopped at last when they were both out of breath, standing ten feet away with his blades both drawn. His eyes sparkled with mistrust, but the violence had gone out of them.

"He told you about the airfield?"

"Yes," Oliver panted.

"What did he tell you?" Slade demanded.

"He said it was heavily guarded and that one man could never take it alone." Oliver turned the blade of his knife down and dropped it, letting it stick in the dirt. He put his hands up. "Listen, I just want to get home. I just want to get my family home. I can help you get that plane."

Slade stared him down, waiting to see some sign of dishonesty, but then he sheathed his blades at last. "You got guts, kid." He held out one black-gloved hand. "Slade Wilson."

Oliver stepped up, taking his hand and shaking it. "Oliver Queen."

"We'll go and fetch your party now. I can't have them milling around in the woods, stirring up the animals." He paused, narrowing his eyes at Oliver. "Now that you know where this place is, your only way out is on the plane. I won't risk my location being compromised. Believe me, boy, I'll kill you and your family if you stand in the way of me getting off this island."

He remembered the first time, how Slade had promised to kill him if he got in the way, but it was different now that his father and Sara were involved. Oliver made a similar promise to himself – he would kill Slade if he became a threat. His companions already knew to keep his strange past a secret from this man, but he would remind them again when he had a moment.

He could not imagine what Slade might do if he knew what sort of monster Oliver had made him into the first time around.


	19. The Lie

**Chapter 19.**

 **The Lie**.

It was like coming home.

Oliver had spent years trying not to think of his time on the island, blocking it out of his thoughts, his dreams, and yet it all came back to him so clearly. He had spent years here, but it had felt like a lifetime – a lifetime of struggling, of friendships, of enemies.

He crossed blades with Slade and felt that he had never left the island.

Slade had impossibly dark eyes, hidden beneath a heavy brow, a serious expression. Sweat rolled down both their faces, adding intensity to their battle. Oliver matched him strike-for-strike, his hands slippery on the hilt of his sword, his muscles burning and protesting every movement. But this battle was liberating. He had already trained with Yao Fei, but the man was, at the end of the day, a master archer. Oliver had never met a better swordsman than Slade Wilson – he was one of the few people who could give him a challenge, make him feel alive.

It had been a little over a week since Oliver brought his group to the downed plane. He fell quickly into a routine, spending every waking moment training and working side-by-side with Slade to plan their next move. He involved Sara as much as he could, but the combat became too intense for her and she simply sat on the sidelines, observing, her blue eyes cutting into him. He also argued constantly with Slade about the fate of the captive, Luke, who was gradually recovering from the terrible beating Robert and Yao Fei had given him. Oliver refused to let him come to any more harm, and Slade insisted they kill him.

Oliver also lived with the constant anxiety that something would slip, alerting Slade to his deception. He had told his companions to keep his terrible truth from Slade because the man was volatile. He was not the villain Oliver had known yet, but Oliver could not shake the mistrust in his heart. Slade was too much of a risk, too much of a wild card.

It was early evening when they battled this time, and it wore into dusk and nightfall. Slade called the fight when they were still tied, and the light was too low to safely go on. Oliver broke away and collapsed beside Sara, taking long gulps from his canteen.

Slade sheathed his sword and looked off into the woods. "Five minutes."

"You could stay back tonight," Sara said, like she did every night. She reached over and stroked his sweaty hair out of his face. "You need rest. You hardly sleep."

"I'll sleep when we're off the island," Oliver said, like he did every night.

Sara sighed, and said under her breath, "What do you expect to see, Oli? You go out every night, and you never see anything new."

Oliver said nothing. He looked into her eyes and wished she didn't look so afraid, but couldn't comfort her. He had to go. She knew that.

He made the trek to the beach in silence, following Slade, and then lying beside him on a ridge overlooking the shore. Fyers had made his camp here, a sprawling series of tents with mercenaries covering every angle. He saw no sign of his friends.

"Quiet tonight," Slade commented, slowly scanning the tents with his binoculars.

Oliver rested his chin on his arms, "I still think the best time to attack is-"

"Never."

Oliver looked up, finding Slade looking at him grimly. "What?"

"Never. The best time to attack is never, kid. Look at that place. We would die, and die for nothing. Yao Fei is gone."

"I owe him my life," Oliver said.

"Yeah, well, either both of us live, or none of us are getting off this island. We're not going in there."

"I'll go on my own."

"No, you won't." Slade took off his binoculars, looking very menacing all of the sudden. "If you go in there and get yourself killed, your friends are as good as dead. I'm not babysitting them. I let them live because I need you."

Oliver locked his jaw, stopping himself from saying something he would regret. Slade could never understand his loyalty to Yao Fei and Shado. And there was no point in arguing. Slade had made up his mind. Oliver said nothing for the rest of their time on the ridge.

When they returned, Robert had gone to sleep, and Luke was sulking in the corner. His arms and legs were bound and he was tied to the inside of the plane. Sara was still awake, waiting for them where they had been sparring earlier. Slade grunted at her as he passed and she gave him a dark look.

"Can I talk to you?" she said to Oliver.

He wanted nothing more than to go and lie down, but Sara seemed determined. He went into the woods with her, to the nearby stream, and sat on a boulder fragment.

Sara paced in front of him. "I don't trust Slade."

He had expected as much. Sara knew the whole story.

"He's not that person yet," Oliver reminded her.

"Then why aren't you telling him the truth? Why are you lying?"

"Because Slade can be… volatile."

"Do you trust him?"

Oliver could not answer that definitively. He looked down at his hands. "You're not going to like what I have to say."

She grew more serious, stopping in front of him. "What?"

"I have to go after Yao Fei and Shado – and Slade… he doesn't understand."

"Oli…" Sara sat beside him, looping her arms into one of his. "I saw the tents on that beach. There are too many of them."

"I have to." Oliver was going to pull away from her, but he found himself leaning closer instead. Sara was the only warm thing on this island. "I owe Yao Fei my life… and Shado… I failed them once, and I can't do that again."

"You never failed them-"

"Sara, you don't understand. You can't understand. And that's not your fault." Oliver stood up, frustrated, unable to express himself. "I lived this before. I know how this ends. I can't live with myself if I let them die again. I can't. I won't."

She sat helplessly on the boulder, "I don't want you to die, Oli. You're all I have." Her voice was scratchy and there were tears in her eyes.

Oliver was torn, but not nearly in half. There was no way he could leave Yao Fei and Shado behind, even if it meant hurting Sara. But he drew her up to him anyway and held her tightly.

"I can go with you," she said into his neck.

He shook his head.

"I can _fight_."

"I know."

He held her for several minutes, finding himself twisting back and forth, trying to soothe her and himself. If he died trying to save Yao Fei and Shado, he would fail them all. Slade would try to use Sara or Robert to help him get the plane. He would kill Luke. Or maybe he would kill them all, like he had threatened, and their plight would die on this island.

It was worth the risk to Oliver.

It was worth lying.

"Okay. I won't go. I won't go."

Sara drew away, her blue eyes sparkling with tears. "What?"

"I'll stay. I will."

She gasped, and smiled, and hugged him around the neck, and then drew away and kissed his lips eagerly. Oliver responded with just as much desperation. He had a knot in his stomach, telling him that what he was doing was wrong, but he ignored it. He put it aside and vowed to take on that camp and free his friends – and to come back alive and get them all off this island.


	20. The Fool

**Chapter 20.**

 **The Fool.**

Oliver woke before the sun had risen and crept silently from the dark belly of the plane. He forced his mind to clear, to be cold, because he could not afford to think about the people he was leaving behind. He could not be the Oliver they wanted, the innocent one, the young one. He had to be the man that was forged by this island – the fighter, the killer, the monster.

He never made it past the tree line.

Slade leapt from a perch nearly eight feet up in a shadowy fold of forest, drawing his blade, shattering the predawn silence with the sheer of metal. It was that precious time before sunrise, when the sky was beginning to lighten, lending details to the world. It gave Slade an ominous expression, showing the tick of fury behind his eyes.

"Going for a little early morning stroll?" Slade asked, forcing Oliver back into the open with the point of his sword. His eyes poured over the gear Oliver was wearing – the backpack, the bow on his shoulder, the binoculars around his neck.

Oliver said nothing. His jaw locked. He had underestimated his old friend – but had Slade seen through his lie, or was he simply untrusting? Did he happen upon this betrayal, or plan for it? It was impossible to know, impossible to ask. If he said the wrong thing now, he had no doubt he would end up in a fight with Slade – one he was uncertain he would win. He had been training furiously, but Slade was one of the greatest swordsmen he had ever met.

"We can stand here all day," Slade went on, tilting his blade so the cutting edge was vertical. "You know what you were doing. I know what you were doing. I want to hear you say it."

"Why?" Oliver dared.

"Because I said so."

"I was going to the beach."

Slade did not react. His face was placid, his voice even. "Why?"

"Because our friend is down there," Oliver said, his tone biting.

Slade shifted into a snarl. "I told you what would happen if you went down there!" His voice boomed for a moment, but he seemed to regain control of himself. It was too quiet on the island to make that kind of noise. "If you attack that camp, you will die. And then we'll all die on this island. Why is that so hard for you to grasp?"

"I understand the risk."

"You understand _nothing_. Stupid kid." Slade stepped forward, forcing Oliver backward. His keen, black eyes seemed to miss nothing. He looked through Oliver, as if he could tell he was more than he appeared to be. He grunted, frustrated, and finally looked away.

Oliver took the chance to edge away from the sword. "Yao Fei saved my dad's life. He saved all of us. He was the one who told me about you. He told me… He told me what they want him for, and I can't let them do that to him."

"Kid, do I look like a give a shit? I want off this island. I want you to start using your brain!"

"Listen to me. Just relax for a second and hear what I'm saying." Oliver waited, but Slade remained tense, ready to open him up with one flick of his wrist. Oliver dared to go on. "I want to get off this island, too. I want to get my family home. I wanna go _home_. But I won't leave Yao Fei behind."

"If you go down there-"

"I know you think I can't do this. I know that. But I'm doing it. It's happening. If you want to attack me, if you really wanna kill me, do it, because you're not gonna change my mind."

Slade twitched, his blade switching angles again. He crept it closer, until the edge was flush to Oliver's neck. He stood there, perfectly still, and their eyes locked. It was a battle of wills. Slade seemed to want to make good on his threats – wanted it so badly that his arm tensed, his fingers tightened around his sword – but there was something else in him now. It might have been respect, or resolve.

"Fine. But I'm not going down with you."

He finally sheathed his blade, crossing his arms.

Oliver sensed something change in the clearing. He heard footsteps. He turned to find Sara coming out of the plane, still foggy from the night. She saw right through him, just like Slade had, and in an instant her fury was palpable.

"You lied."

He clung to his coldness, "I had to."

"No, you didn't." She crossed the clearing, looking wearily at Slade, and then at Oliver. She looked into him, like Slade had, and said, "I'm going with you."

He was already shaking his head. He had seen this coming. "No."

"I can fight. You taught me yourself. I want to help Yao Fei, too. He saved us _all_."

"Sara-"

"You don't get to bench me! Who made you king of the island?"

"Sara, please-"

"No. I don't want to hear your reasons. Fight me for it." She ducked inside the plane and returned with their bo-sticks, tossing one to him.

Oliver barely had time to catch the weapon, to reject her challenge, before she was lunging at him, the tip of her stick whistling through the air toward his face. Oliver dodged backward, letting his heavy pack slide off of his back. "Sara! Stop!" He ducked under another vicious attack, which would have given him a concussion, at least, if it landed.

She kept coming, a blur of unbridled fury, slashing at him, twisting her weapon, trying to sweep his feet out from under him. Oliver fought defensively, looking for a way to stop this without getting whacked – and without hurting her. But he realized he had trained her too well. Sara took to fighting much faster than he did, like she was made for it, like she was born for it. If he let this go on, he could be here all morning fending her off, and he could lose precious time.

He was going to have to hurt her.

Oliver lured her into the open field in front of the plane, pretending to be pushed back, pretending to falter. He watched her attacks, finding her erratic and angry, forcing himself to be the opposite.

He left his flank open and she lashed out, ready to deal a nasty blow, ready to prove herself – but he twisted and smacked her weapon out of her hand, and then caught her in the back with the other end of his stick. Sara hit her knees, breathless. Oliver forced her flat on her stomach, pressing the bo-stick into the back of her neck to immobilize her.

"Stay down," he said.

She squirmed but had no hope of getting free. She was like a bug on a toothpick. "Get off!"

Oliver bound her arms behind her back and tied her legs together at the thigh, offering no means of escape. He lifted her and carried her like luggage into the belly of the plane. She twisted and shouted the whole time, trying to bite him, but when he laid her in the corner they had shared the night before, her demeanor changed.

"I can help you," she pleaded. "You can't go alone. You'll die."

"I won't."

He left, with her voice trailing after him. "Let me go! I can help! Oli! _Oli_!"

Oliver passed his father in the mouth of the plane. Robert looked sleepy and bewildered. Oliver had no time to explain this to him, too. He recovered his bag, strapped himself in, and hefted his bow over his shoulder, heading for the trees.

Slade was back in his perch. "You know, that was pretty cold, kid."

Oliver said nothing.


	21. The Prisoner

**Chapter 21.**

 **The Prisoner.**

Oliver picked his way down a rocky ledge, lending his eyes to the horizon whenever he could. It was getting brighter out, more conspicuous. If someone looked up from the spray of tents on the beach, they might see him as a dark dot among the rocks. He could only hope that luck was on his side. His entry into the camp depended on a hardy copse of trees along the coast, with open stretches of beach to the east and west.

It was very windy all of the sudden. Sand and salt sprayed off the rocks and stung his eyes. Birds began to flock and call overhead.

He made it to the trees and slipped among the trunks, staying low and keeping his face down. He had three theories about where Shado could be. His first was a tent off to the east, always under guard, with darker walls than the rest to conceal what was inside. He went to it first, creeping as close as he could without leaving his cover behind. Seconds passed as he stared at the tent from a distance, putting his mind to it, willing himself to _know_ what was inside. But he had not seen it when he was here last, not explored the camp as much as he should have.

Oliver moved on to his second option. Someone had set up a large rectangular section of canvas in the most densely populated part of the camp. It was attached to the command tent, where Fyers slept, but no one ever entered of left. It had no guard.

He went to the west side of the camp last but ran out of trees before he could get close to the edge. He had seen a larger structure here when he studied the camp the day before, but now that he was closer it was easy to see it was a mess hall. Mercenaries came and went with trays of food. It was also unguarded, but dozens of rows of basic tents surrounded it.

It was down to two, then. He had two options and he could only choose one. Shift change was rapidly approaching, and the flurry of activity would give him the cover he needed to slip into the camp unnoticed. His way out was going to be less secretive.

Oliver sat silently beneath the gnarled trunk of an ocean tree, weighing his options. It would be easier if he had backup, had someone to check the east tent while he checked this one – but it was too late to back down. He was in the momentum, tense from the adrenaline, prepared to lay everything down to get his friend away from Fyers.

It was decided then. Oliver stayed in the center, deciding the height of this tent along with the lack of visitors and location made it the most likely to hold the prisoners. He had not even considered that they might hold Yao Fei and Shado together – it was one or the other, and they would never leave Yao Fei unguarded. Shado was in there.

His moment was rapidly approaching. He crept into the scarce edge of the jungle, his heart racing, his eyes darting back and forth between two guards who were keeping their eyes on the beach. One yawned and stepped away, and then the other turned to greet his replacement.

Oliver ran. He crossed the sand at breakneck speed, diving behind the first available tent and rolling onto his side. He waited – one, two, three seconds – and one of the relieved sentries strolled past. Oliver crossed behind him, over an aisle, and waited again on the other side.

His journey through the camp was excruciatingly slow, and each second added to the risk of being discovered. It was not a regimented army, but a group of roughnecks, and so they were unpredictable. He barely breathed, his heart pounding out of his chest the closer he got to the center. When he finally made it to the tent, no one was looking. He had to go in and face whatever might be inside, or stay outside, and face detection.

Oliver ran through the tent flaps. His eyes adjusted rapidly to the dark inside, and he first registered a large iron cage, and then the butt of a rifle coming toward his face.

He fought off his attacker, grabbing the weapon and slamming it backward. He twisted it around, trying to disarm the man, but his grip was solid. Oliver let go instead, dropping his back and tackling the man around the midsection. He slammed him to the ground, stunning him, and punched him in the face. His fist struck the gun instead, and his knuckles broke against it like water. Oliver grasped the rifle strap, which lay between them, and wrapped it twice around the mercenary's neck, pulling it tight, refusing to let go.

He won in the end, but with more bruises than he would have liked. He staggered to his feet and leaned on the cage, knowing what he would see before his eyes even adjusted.

Shado was there, curled into a ball, ropes tightly binding her hands and feet. Her skin was discolored, bruised, and blood matted her hair. Oliver knew then without a doubt that things had already changed on the island. Shado had not looked like this when he met her the first time.

He fished around the guard until he found a key for the cage. Shado was unconscious and would not stir. Oliver dragged her out and lifted her into his arms, bouncing on his heels, waiting for the moment when his diversion would let him escape.

He had mistimed it slightly, but after five minutes a loud crackling to the south sent boots running past the tent. Oliver stood waiting until he could not stand it anymore.

He burst out, holding Shado close to his chest, sprinting behind one tent, and then another. His distraction had run its course and the mercenaries were returning. He could not make it across the beach, so he ran instead along the water, out the back of the camp toward a protective outcropping of rock. He plunged into the cold water and skirted the edge of it, slipping, almost going under a few times. Saltwater rushed around Shado and she groaned.

"Sorry, sorry," he murmured, still rushing, even as he left the view of the camp behind. He waded out of the ocean and hit his knees just on the other side of the rock. They were still in great danger of discovery, but he needed a break before he could go any further.

Several things hit him at once. Someone would discover that Shado was missing and security in the camp would increase. He had no chance of rescuing Yao Fei in the same fashion. He also tried to find hope – hope that Yao Fei would not do what they wanted now that his daughter was free. But how would he know that? Fyers would not tell him. He might think it was his only option, and then he would die for no reason.

Oliver forced himself up again, carrying Shado in his arms up the jutting black rocks to the shelter of the jungle. He would circle around from here, traversing a large section of the island to get back to the plane. Now that he had Shado he was slower, more conspicuous.

His mind wandered on his journey, wishing he was back home, and also wishing he never had to go back. He was filled with memories of death and destruction, friends falling and never getting back up, a lifetime of misery with only fleeting moments of light. He tried to convince himself that he was going to do better this time. He was going to carve out a better life. Shado was going to live, and that was the start of it all.


	22. The Hero

**Chapter 22.**

 **The Hero**.

It had been dark for hours when they finally made it back. Oliver could not feel his legs – partly from plunging into the sea earlier, and partly from the plummeting temperature on the island. When he saw the plane, his legs gave out and he collapsed, dropping Shado and landing hard on his side.

He lay there, panting, for several minutes, his arms rebelling against the load he had been bearing for so long. His journey back had been miserable. He was cold and wet, his back ached and his heart thrashed. His attempt to replicate years of physical training in a few weeks had failed.

Eventually, someone noticed him – but not the best someone.

Slade crouched beside him, offering him a hand and helping him sit up. He had a small lantern, which cast just enough light to let them see Shado as she had fallen, broken and bruised on the ground. He eyed her doubtfully.

"I guess you noticed, kid, but that is not Yao Fei."

Oliver could finally breathe. He crawled over to Shado and turned her on her back, showing her face to Slade. "Shado is his daughter. Yao Fei is still down there."

Slade looked disappointed, which made Oliver realize he had been hoping to see Yao Fei again.

"I suppose you want to go after him again," Slade said dryly.

"I was going to catch my breath first."

Slade almost smiled. He came close, and then replaced his amusement with coldness. "Now we have one more useless mouth to feed."

"I'll feed them – all of them."

Slade snorted. It was a topic he usually argued. He hated having the prisoner, Luke, around, because he admittedly meant nothing to Oliver. At least his family seemed important. Slade could not understand his aversion to taking life.

"You're gonna regret trying to play hero, kid."

"I told you I would help you take the supply plane, and I will. What does it matter what I do until then? Why do you care?"

"It's a two-man job. I need you at your best, not… this." Slade said, gesturing to Oliver and grunting. He walked off into the woods, taking his light with him. Oliver was left in the dark.

He groped around, and then scooped Shado back into his arms. He limped around the plane to the open hatch and slipped inside, through a black curtain. His father and Sara were awake, sitting around another small lantern. Oliver laid Shado down.

"Oli…" Sara breathed, creeping forward. "Jesus…"

"You could have died down there, and for what? For her?" Robert demanded.

Oliver nodded, "For her."

Sara met his eyes, "Is she…? Is she his daughter? Yao Fei?"

"Mhm. Shado. But last time…" Oliver glanced at his father, and then at the prisoner at the back of the ship, lying bound on his side. It seemed his head was up a bit, and it sunk down when Oliver paused. "She was beat up pretty bad. I'll mix something to help her heal."

He tried to start, but his hands were trembling too much to mix the herbs. Sara stepped in and took his direction, putting the mix together for him and draining the fluid into a cup.

"When she wakes, have her drink it all." He was starting to feel the day settle over him. It had been a long one, intense and stressful, and now that danger was not so close he could not keep himself awake. His eyes begged to be closed.

Robert came to sit with him at the back, where he was slumped against a wooden crate, keeping an eye on Shado.

"Oliver, I… I'm proud of you for helping that girl. But what you did-"

"I don't need your permission, you or Slade," Oliver cut in, too tired to be gentle with his father. Robert did not understand, either.

He bristled. "I'm still your father."

"I lived a whole life without you," Oliver said, his tone biting. "I watched you die, and buried you, and grew up on my own. I made choices… hard choices… on my _own_. I've told you that, but you don't want to hear it." He could already see his father shutting down, as he did whenever Oliver brought up the life he had already lived. "I told you who I was, dad."

"You're not a hero," Robert said quietly, grasping his shoulder, and then standing. "You're just supposed to be my son, my boy. But I barely recognize you."

His words stung. Oliver simmered in them, awakened by this fresh pain. He wondered, briefly, if it was even worth trying to save the future, when he could not be the same person he was. But that wonder dissolved, because he knew sparing the lives of his friends and family were more important than whether they accepted him. He was not really their son, after all. His memories and experiences were different. _He_ was different.

Sara filled the spot his father had left, as she often did, and looped her arms into one of his. She rested her head on his shoulder, her voice barely a murmur.

"I think what you did was brave – but stupid."

"I think that might be the consensus," Oliver replied, yawning.

"Can you tell me about Shado?"

He gave up on holding his head and let it rest on hers, his foggy eyes on the nearby warrior. Shado slept soundly or lay unconscious. She gave no signs of dreaming.

"She was trained to fight by her father. I helped her the first time, and she helped me. She kept me sane, in all of this." Oliver gestured around, and let his hand drop to his knee. "We were close… When I found you again, there was this… this moment…" He stopped, uncertain if he could even recount this part of his story aloud. It was still close to him, after all these years.

Sara put her hand on his, "You don't have to tell me."

Oliver stared at Shado for the longest time, trying to commit her face to memory – trying to banish it from his nightmares. It was a face that had haunted him for so long, tormenting him even after he had left the island in the form of Slade. Here he was again, with the knowledge to spare her. Her life was tied to another, to Slade, last time he was here. If he could save her, he could save Slade, and erase a dark chapter from his own future.

Finally, he let the words out.

"I had to choose who to save, you or Shado, and I chose you. I made a choice that… that haunted me." Oliver realized how that must sound and tried to explain himself. "We should never have to decide who lives and who dies. It's never easy. Never."

"But you know how to avoid that choice now, right?" Sara asked in a trembling voice.

He was scaring her. "Yes. I'm not letting it come to that again. I'll keep you safe – both of you."

She was quiet for a while, and Oliver drifted. His eyes rolled shut and visions of a sinking ship came to mind. He felt the water rushing around him, felt the fury of his former friend. He felt the pressure, the give, as he jammed an arrow in his eye. His mind wandered to the night Slade brought his family to a roadside execution, the night he put a sword through his mother – the night Oliver lay and look into her dead eyes and wished that it had been him instead.

And then Sara spoke, and stirred him from his half-dreams.

"Oli?"

"Hmm?"

"I think Robert is wrong. You are a hero. And you're still Oliver. I recognize you. You've always been like this – _always_."

"Like what? Brave but stupid?"

She laughed sleepily. "I think that'll be written on your tombstone one day."


	23. Missing Pieces

**Chapter 23.**

 **Missing Pieces**.

Oliver sat upright in the shadowy heart of the plane. She was across from him, illuminated by a beam of light coming down from the roof – it highlighted all of her flaws. Shado was barely the woman he remembered, barely a person at all in the wake of what they had done to her. Her fair skin was dotted with blackish bruises, the gentle slant in her eyes invisible under the swelling, her mouth pressed in a hard line as she slept. It had been almost two days and Shadow had barely stirred. She was nothing like she had been last time, nothing like he had ever seen.

He was stuck here knowing he was to blame for her injuries. Something had already changed and prompted Fyers to torture her. But what could it be?

Robert ducked into the plane in the midst of his vigil, hesitating at the door, and then joining them at the back. He sat nearby, focusing on Oliver instead of the broken girl. Oliver had barely spoken to his father since his return, not because he was angry, but because he was too tired and troubled to spare a thought for Robert. He was questioning his place here, questioning whether it was right or fair to change the past, to potentially make it worse for the people he loved.

"How is she?" Robert asked in a whisper, afraid to wake the dead.

"Same."

"Some of the swelling has gone down, at least," Robert responded. He touched his chest, where he hid a long list of the worst people he knew and cleared his throat. "Sara and I have been talking, and we agree. We're worried about you. I'm worried about you."

Oliver had argued his point too many times already. "I had to," he said simply.

"It's not about her," Robert said, sliding a little closer. "Sara told me what happened on the raft, with Gus. What _really_ happened."

Oliver tried to shake the memory before it could return, but there was no preventing it. Gus was floating, begging them to let him on the raft, unarmed and teary-eyed. Oliver shot him and watched the body float away. But it was not just Gus in the memory – it was a legion of nameless, faceless bodies falling under his hands, under his arrows. It was bones cracking and blood spraying and a constant, exhausting fight for survival and justice.

It was years of unrest, fueled by the monster inside, where half of him was always yearning to stop, and half of him was always searching for the next fight.

His past would never let him rest.

Robert must have seen some of that in him. He had been distant lately, unwilling to believe, shell-shocked by what they had been through, but he was still a father. "You killed the man in the woods, too, and the one Sara tied up. You did it like it was nothing."

Oliver had been through this with Felicity, and with Diggle, in another life that seemed so far away right now – he never expected to have this talk with his father. Robert had not been alive to see him break, to see him rebuilt.

"I did what I had to do," he defended mechanically.

But it was a lie. Sara was right. He could have left that man tied up for the others to find. He could have dragged Gus back onto the raft, helped him back from his delirious state, got him here to survive with the rest of them. He could have done a lot of things differently, but he turned to the darkest route first. His old habits were alive again.

Robert put a hand on his shoulder, his voice low and urgent, "I know you want to protect us, but let us take some of that burden, son."

It was quiet for a while. Oliver went on thinking, letting his mind wander to keep it clear. But there was no defense against it. Everything that he wanted to avoid lived in him – it was him. He was reminded again how different he was, how hard it must be for his father to look at him and see only remnants of the son he knew. It had to be just as hard for Robert as it was for Oliver, looking at his father, remembering the long years he spent grieving him.

Robert eventually pressed, "Can you at least tell me what you're thinking? You've been in here all day. Sara is worried. I'm worried. Please."

It was the past, or the future, that clouded his mind.

"You don't want to hear about it."

"I do."

Oliver sighed, "It's not about now, it's about then. Before. _After_." Oliver watched his face, waiting for that wall of resistance, but it never came.

He seemed more familiar now, and it put Oliver strangely at ease. Robert had looked at him like this when he was ten years old, when Oliver had finally been found and brought home after running away for the very first time. He was not mad – not like Moira, who was livid – but ready to listen. He had crouched down and held Oliver in his arms and asked him what was on his mind. Robert had the power to swallow his rage – maybe that was a trait he passed on.

Oliver went on, quietly, "I was thinking about last time. It was different. He tortured Shado this time, but I can't figure out why. Something changed."

Robert looked at the girl, "It almost seems like he was mad at her."

"He needed her for leverage. She was his only weapon against Yao Fei." Oliver rubbed his forehead, trying to make ideas generate by the power of friction. When he looked at his father again, Robert was staring at him. "I know it's hard for you. I'm not the son you know, not the one who was supposed to be here. I know you can't accept it. I'm sorry I've been pushing so hard."

"Oliver…"

"I want you to live this time. I want you to make it home to mom, and to Thea. Even if you can never look at me the same… at least you can be there for them."

Robert had hard eyes. "I'm trying. I am."

"I know you are."

Oliver realized then how lonely he was, even when he was surrounded by people he knew – these were not the people who remembered him, and he was not the person they remembered. He still looked at his father and saw a dead man, a ghost. He still looked at Sara and saw a shell of who she would become. He still looked at Slade and saw a murderer. He still looked at Shado and felt an empty, aching hole in his heart.

He got up, unable to sit with his thoughts any longer. "Will you watch her for a while?"

Robert nodded.

It was pleasant outside, nearing dusk, with a chilly breeze striking north across their hideout. Sara and Slade were in the field, sparring, their bo-sticks snapping each time they made contact. Oliver made for them, watching their fight. Slade did not go easy on her, getting in a few nasty hits to her thigh, and then her shoulder. It was obvious Sara was trying to work out some underlying anger and failing at it. She was growing frustrated and getting sloppy.

When they saw him, Slade ended the spar by sweeping her legs out from under her and putting his stick to her throat, pinning her there for a long three seconds before letting her up.

"Were you going easy on me?" Sara panted, clawing her way to her feet.

"No, but I was prolonging the fight," Slade responded. He twirled his stick and pointed it at Oliver, "Is the girl awake? Or did you come out to get your ass kicked like blondie here?"

Sara huffed.

Oliver was put off by his good mood. He had been full of doom and gloom when Oliver returned with the lifeless girl in tow, convinced they had been followed, that stealing a prisoner would delay their plan of escape – but now he seemed like himself, like nothing had gone wrong at all.

"Supply plane is still coming in on schedule," Slade said, leaning on his stick, a little out of breath despite dominating the fight. "Your little stunt doubled security, but with three people – or four, if Shado recovers – we should be able to pull it off."

"Good." Oliver nodded to Sara, "Can I speak to you privately?"

She glanced at Slade, dropped her weapon, and follow him into the forest, to the small stream they got their water from. It was the easiest resource problem to solve on Lian Yu.

Oliver started the moment they were at the stream, "Please stop talking to my dad."

Sara did not look sorry. In fact, those blue eyes of hers turned to steel. "I'm worried about you."

"I gathered."

"We both are, even if your dad is kind of a dick about it."

"Why did you tell him about Gus?"

She looked startled by that question, "Why not?"

Oliver could not explain why he was upset about this, out of everything that happened. He knew who he was, knew what he was capable of – but did he want his _family_ to know? His father had seen him choke that mercenary to death in the woods, but the circumstances were different. It was life or death. Robert had also seen him put a bullet in that man on the hill – but that was an adrenaline-fueled kill. Gus was different. Gus was before everything.

"I did what I had to do," he repeated again, like reading from a script.

Sara put her hand on his arm, frowning when he moved away from the touch. "I'm worried about you," she repeated. "I can see you slipping away, going to a dark place. You told me about that, remember? You told me how it started, how you killed people."

"I had to."

"No. You made a choice. You chose what was easiest."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he ground out.

"Please, enlighten me, then."

His temper rose, "These people are killers, Sara. This place is hell. It's hell! If we want to get out of here alive, we have to fight. I have to _fight_."

"I know that."

"No, you don't, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. Your life until now has been fine. Just perfect. Nobody was killed in front of you. Nobody tortured you."

She was silent.

He went on, the words just piling out of him, "You didn't have to watch your friends and family get put down one at a time. You didn't have to stand at their _funerals_! You didn't have to tell their parents why they never came home. You never lived this, Sara! You have no idea. You have no idea what this place is to me, what this place _did to me_."

"I know that," she said softly.

"No, you don't!" he snapped.

Sara put her hand on him again, more forcefully, and wrapped her arms around him. Her voice came against his neck. "I'm not judging you. I just want to help you."

He stood stiffly in her hold, wishing he could work up the fury to shove her away. But the anger was gone, and all that was left was the grief. It had been a long time since he had really let the island get to him like this – this place was his prison, his personal hell, the thing that broke him and remade him. The fight against it was more personal to him than to anyone else.

Oliver relented, sighing, releasing the tension in his muscles.

"I was sure you were gonna knock my lights out," Sara commented.

He laughed, somehow.

She pressed a hesitant kiss to his throat, "You have to stop this lone wolf crap. You hear me? It might have been just you last time, but this time I'm here, and your dad is here. Even if no one else does, I've got your back. I do. Okay?"

It was so strange to hear her saying those words, because he was supposed to be the one comforting her, protecting her, promising her.

She pulled away and held his face in both hands, an ethereal beauty with so much warmth in her eyes, and said, "I'm not gonna let _anything_ hurt you. And I know you wanna say 'that's my line' really bad right now, but don't. I'm feeling really empowered and I wanna live in this moment."

Oliver smiled, "Okay."

Sara leaned in and kissed his lips, a touch that chased the dark feelings away. He let go of his worries, if only for a moment, and returned it.

She drew up the hem of his shirt, and her cool fingers brushed his stomach, giving him butterflies. She ran one palm up, skating between his healing wounds. She lifted his shirt gentle over his head, and broke her lips from his, kissing the underside of his jaw, his neck, and then the skin over his heart. Oliver watched her intently, reminded of the scars he did not have yet, but too close to her to be hurt by them.

He slid her shirt up, as well, touching the fresh bruises Slade had left from their sparring, wishing he could not feel her ribs so prominently along her back. He thought of the scars she would have in the future, where she was shot, where she was stabbed, where her life was taken.

He let the past go, let the future go, for a brief time.

He let her take him away, let himself forget. Sara intoxicated him. He watched her eyes in the moonlight, found solace in her sounds. He gave in to her relentless warmth.

When they both lay quietly by the stream, she touched his chest again. Her fingers traced the thin lines he had received on the beach, and her lips glided up to his ear. She whispered, "I want first go at whoever did this, by the way."

"You're gonna have to get in line behind Slade."

She yawned, "I'll beat him up, I don't care."

"We should go back to the plane."

"Five more minutes." She tilted her head up, her face shadowed and unreadable. "Hey, can I ask you something? It might be a little weird, considering we were just…"

"What?"

"I know you said that Laurel was a hero, too. I know it seems like a stupid question, but… when you got home… how was she?"

Oliver knew what she was trying to ask. He had invited Sara to go on the yacht with him, but he was dating her sister at the time. Sara was feeling guilty.

"She was still my friend – one of my best friends."

"And… with me?"

"She loved you so much. Sara, last time I had to go home and tell them that you died. I was there for years before you came back, and I saw what it did to them. No one is going to be mad at _you_."

"But you?"

"Yeah, well, I'll live."

Sara sat up, sorting her clothes out of the nearby pile. "We should go back."

Oliver felt her hesitation and regretted it. "Sara…"

"I know it was different last time, and you probably never think about everyone back home, or you probably blame yourself, knowing you, but I decided to come. You invited me, and I came." She dressed, and flattened her hair, "I shouldn't have… We can't."

She waited for him but said nothing else. Oliver had no response. It was different for him because of how removed he was from this world. He had lived it before, made up with Laurel before, and he had accepted the awful things that brought him here. But it was still new for Sara, still fresh. She had not had time to think of it last time, but now they were on the island together, due to make it home together, and she _had_ to think about it.

It stung, but he understood.


	24. Luke

**Chapter 24.**

 **Luke.**

Luke was starting to look human again. He had already been a bloody mess the first time Oliver saw him, as he lay on his stomach in the cave, beaten within an inch of his life. But it was clear now that he was in his early thirties, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, and soft-spoken. Oliver was the only one who talked to him, the only one who offered him water, brought him food, took him out of his bindings to go to the bathroom. It was that way for weeks. Luke did not talk much, did not know much. He was hired muscle, and that was all. He gave Oliver details about the camp on the beach, about the layout, about the guard shifts, but he did not know where Yao Fei was being kept, or why they had been so brutal toward Shado. He knew nothing of use.

It became harder and harder to justify keeping him alive, so hard the Oliver sometimes considered killing him and taking the easy way out. He even told the others he was thinking about it. But in secret, to himself, he knew that he would never do it. He was that man the first time he was on the island, and he was that man when Juggernaut showed up in Star City, but he wanted to be the person he was between those events. He wants to be compassionate. He wanted to be _good_. Luke barely posed a threat and they could leave him behind when they went to take the plane.

He spoke to him as a way of keeping him alive, because if he knew him, if he saw him as a person, he could not kill him. He asked about his life, let him sit outside in the sun. Luke gave him a break from his training, from their planning and worrying, and he gave Luke a break from Slade leering at him, waiting for the moment he could slip in and slit his throat.

In that time, Shado was conscious on and off. She said nothing, barely acknowledged their presence. Oliver stole medical supplies from the camp and Slade set up an IV for the days when she did not stir. It seemed that her fate still hung in the balance.

On the day before they were slated to take the plane, Luke asked,

"Are you going to kill me?"

Oliver answered honestly, "I'm still wondering that myself." He sat beside him, offering his canteen.

Luke closed his eyes while he drank, like the water was precious to him. "Can you let me go?"

"I wish it were that simple."

"It could be."

Oliver knew he was desperate, but none of it showed in his voice. He was calm and quiet. He had asked these questions before, made his case before, but never with such monotone.

"If I let you go, you end up back with Fyers. You have nowhere else to go. You would end up telling him where we are and what we're planning. If I let you go, we never get off this island, and my friends and family die here."

"I wouldn't tell him anything."

"I wish I could take your word."

Luke handed the canteen back, eyes on the ground. His voice was sad and soft, and a tear slipped down his dirty face. "I just needed the money. I never signed up for any of this. You get out of the army and they offer you stuff, offer you jobs, and you just take them."

Oliver wished he could quell the sympathy inside. "I'm sorry you ended up here."

"I don't want to die," Luke said, in a raspy whisper.

"It would be easier that way, for both of us," Oliver commented. He was glad that it was just the two of them right now, because he could be honest. Luke was a stranger. "If you were dead you wouldn't have to worry about any of this. It's easy, dying. I've been there."

Luke looked at him curiously, and then his eyes fell back to the ground.

"I don't want to kill you," Oliver admitted, and then added, "I'm not going to. I don't do that anymore. I used to be someone else, something else… but I left it behind. I stopped them from hurting you because that's not what we do. It can't be what we do. It can't be who we are."

He produced a ration bar from his pocket and unwrapped it, eating half and giving the other half to the captive man. Luke scarfed it down.

Luke looked up at him, swallowing, "Where does that leave me?"

Oliver ran his hand through his hair, "I used to be this person who would kill anyone who got in my way. It was the easiest solution. It still is. But I want to be someone else. I want to see the value in every life. When we leave tomorrow morning, we'll leave you here. Your friends will find you."

His eyes widened, surprised and questioning, and he said nothing else.

Oliver looked up to find Slade watching them from across the field. He had just flattened Sara, and he had both blades out, glittering in the midday sun. He was too far away to read, but Oliver knew what his expression would be. Distaste. He disliked how Oliver treated their captive. He hated that the man was still alive, posing a threat, using their resources.

But it was not his choice who lived and who died.

It was a long day, for the last day. Oliver trained with the others until dusk, and then they gathered around a small, sheltered fire. Robert took first watch on top of the plane, with a night vision scope and a rifle. Luke was still tied to the broken wing nearby, his arms crossed, his eyes closed.

Slade was in an uncanny good mood. He pulled off his shoe and removed a small, square photo from inside, passing it around to them. It was of a little boy – his son. "His name is Joey. If we can get through all this political bullshit in good time, I can make it to his eleventh birthday party."

When the photo got to Oliver, he held it, picturing William in the place of Joey. It brought a brief smile to his face.

"You got a kid at home, Oliver?" Slade asked, noticing.

Oliver handed the photo over. "I do, actually. A son."

"Well, we got all the motivation in the world to get going then, huh?" Slade stood up, stretched, and slapped both Oliver and Sara on the shoulder as he passed. "I'm gonna go have a walk around, make sure our path is clear for the morning."

It was only quiet for a moment. When he was out of earshot, Sara slid closer to Oliver and asked, "What was that about?"

"What?"

"You… a son…?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_. Explain. Right now. Before I hurt you."

Oliver had left that part out of the story out of habit. William had been a secret in the future, one that drove a wedge between him and Felicity. His existence had been hidden by Moira, and Oliver only found out about him when he was off the island for years.

It was like a punch to the gut, remembering him – because it reminded him of his mom.

Sara must have seen that. "Oh. I'm sorry. Was he…? I mean, did something…?"

He let out a pent-up breath and smiled, "No, no. William is fine. He was born… probably sometime soon, actually. It was right after the _Queen's Gambit_ sank."

She stared at him, waiting, too cautious now to probe.

"I got a girl pregnant, and I ran to my mom, and she paid her to leave town and to tell me that she had a miscarriage. Mom thought it would ruin my life."

" _Wow_."

"I agree."

"Your mom is a bitch."

"Hey."

"Yeah, yeah. But _wow_." Sara cleared her throat, "I hope his story is less sad than all the other ones you tell about the future." She paused, and then touched his arm, "Is it?"

"Mm. He was one of the ones who got away." Oliver tried to smile again, but the expression was sad. "I found out about him when he was seven. It was after… it was after my mom died, so I couldn't even be mad at her. It took a while, but we came to be friends."

"Another reason to get us home, huh?"

He nodded. "Add it to the pile."

"Ollie… are you going to tell Slade what you know? What he did?"

"He hasn't done anything yet. He killed my mom because of the serum. It drove him crazy. It amplified all of his problems. But I'm not letting that happen this time. I'm not letting him go down that road. He deserves to get home as much as we do."

"I think-"

She was interrupted by a metal clang, a scuffle, and a figure darting off into the night. Oliver leapt to his feet, only taking a second to confirm his fear – Luke was gone.

"Stop!" he shouted, barreling after him into the woods.

Luke crashed through the undergrowth, smacking plants, twisting around trees, tripping over roots and staggering into stream beds. Oliver almost got a hand on him twice, only to get tripped up by a plant or ram his shoulder into a tree. It was too dark to safely navigate.

He got a bad feeling just before his feet left the ground.

Oliver tumbled down into a ravine, drawing his limbs in tight as he crashed over a maze of roots, rolling until the world became a blur and his stomach churned. He hit a boulder at the bottom and was dazed, but the sound of Luke scrambling upright nearby stirred him. He lashed out, catching a piece of clothing, but he got a boot to the face that forced him to let go.

Oliver got to his feet, unsteady, and followed the blur of motion through the ravine. The steep walls on either side narrowed, until they were running through a tunnel, climbing over thick roots, tripping over rocks. Oliver splashed into a stream and nearly got his leg sucked down into the mud. Luke fell over a log and thrashed noisily in the shallow water.

Finally, he caught up. Oliver lunged, landing on top of him in the water and trying to secure his limbs. Luke bucked wildly, trying to get his head above the current.

Oliver dragged him sideways onto the muddy bank, forcing his arms up behind his back. His heart was thrashing. He felt around for something to hold Luke down with, but he had nothing on him, nothing near him. He sat on his back, struggling to hold his arms together.

"Stop fighting!" Oliver hissed.

Luke went on struggling, gasping for air.

And then flashlights poured over them.

Oliver flinched away from the light but held onto his captive. He was surrounded, with bright beams on all sides.

"It's Harris," one of the lights said.

Luke struggled furiously, "It's me, it's me. Help!"

"Release him," another light ordered.

Oliver could not believe this.

He released Luke, and he was slammed to the ground, the lights flooding his face. He was cuffed, gagged, and blindfolded, and then dragged up a steep bank. He struggled at the top, but something pierced the skin of his neck and the sounds of the world faded into nothing.


	25. Influence

**Chapter 25.**

 **Influence**.

"I feel like we've been here before."

Fyers was very familiar to him – square head, ruffled, dirty blonde hair, sharp, intelligent eyes with a merciless gleam to them. He had often dreamt of his time on the island, of the first real adversary he faced in his life, but his dreams of Fyers had always been the moment that he took the life of one of his friends. He was here, in this tent. Yao Fei was there, dead on the floor.

He was much less intense right now, curious, if anything. His motivations were almost admirably simple – he was doing this to get paid. He came here because someone was offering him an obscene amount of money to do something unspeakable.

"And I feel that you are not nearly as afraid as you should be. Why is that?"

He circled Oliver, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

"I have so many questions. I hope you can clear some things up for me. When we met the first time you said you were a shipwreck survivor. It was believable then, I suppose – even after you slaughtered my men. But now, I find it very hard to believe, and even a little suspicious. You are certainly tough. We put you through the ringer and you bounced back impressively well. You faked your own death somehow… truly puzzling."

Oliver had a lot on his mind. He knew the supply plane was drawing closer, their plan mounting to failure. Or it might be successful, and he might be left behind. His thoughts raced, but when he looked at Fyers, he could think of nothing but Shado.

"Why did you torture her?"

Fyers cocked one thick blonde eyebrow and chuffed, "I hardly think you're in a position to ask questions, Mr. Queen." He stepped to the side, giving some unseen signal. Wintergreen appeared and socked Oliver in the gut, leaving him breathless.

But still, he asked, "Why did you torture her?"

"You are persistent. I admire that." Fyers was watching him intently for several seconds, and then he lifted his hand and stepped up, dismissing Wintergreen again. He smiled. "Our first meeting left me wondering if Yao Fei had more allies on the island than I originally believed. His daughter knew nothing, or she is very good at keeping secrets – like you, Mr. Queen. Now, my turn. Were you the one who took her?"

"Yes."

"You have many talents. If you were not intent on getting in my way, I might have asked you to join me. Where is the girl now?"

"She died. Her wounds were too severe."

Oliver could lie very well, but Fyers was not in the mood to trust him. He only smiled again, "I doubt that. Billy is very good at what he does. He keeps them on the edge of death without tipping them over. But I suppose you know all about that already from our first meeting."

Seconds rolled past. Wintergreen hovered in the background, a dagger in hand, and Fyers seemed to be thinking. He was in no hurry to end their conversation.

"Oh, are you waiting for me to start asking questions so that my friend here can twist that dagger in your stomach? I have other places to be. But you can rest easy, because Wintergreen here has volunteered to keep you company. You may be too stubborn to break, Mr. Queen, but your friend Yao Fei is not. I'll bring him by later to check up on you and see how talkative he feels."

Oliver tried to forget who he was for a little while. Wintergreen was not nearly as harsh as he was last time. He was going for shocking visuals, blood, bruises, instead of real damage. He wanted it to look terrible when Fyers came back with Yao Fei – he wanted it to be enough to convince anyone to do anything to make it stop. Wintergreen said nothing, made no sounds, gave no indication that there was really a man behind that mask of his.

When he stopped, with no command or signal, it was the middle of the night. He just turned and left the tent, and there was no sign of Fyers returning.

Someone else came, though.

"I just want to talk to him, give him a little payback for what he did to me." He heard the voice and, for a split second, did not recognize it. Luke. He was talking to the guards outside. "Come on, guys, give me five minutes."

Luke came into the tent, his eyes scanning wearily over Oliver before he looked at the floor. He had a canteen in his hands. He held it up.

"I brought you something to drink."

He half-expected it to be urine, or something else vile, but Oliver still drank eagerly from the canteen. It was just cold water. His throat was on fire. Luke held it up for him until it was empty, and then strapped it around his neck.

Luke did not look much like a mercenary – but maybe that was because he had been their captive for so long. He was sort of young, with sandy hair and thoughtful eyes. He had a rifle strapped on his back and patches from a few different military forces sewn onto his jacket. He looked uncertain, being here, but he managed to speak.

"Are you really from the future?"

Oliver met his eyes, realizing how many conversations he had had with Luke nearby about future events. He had been talking to Sara about the future when Luke ran off.

He answered carefully, "Yes. I was sent back to stop something bad from happening."

"What happens to me, in the future?"

"I never met you."

Luke frowned, "What does that mean?"

"It means I was sent back to my own life, to when I was younger. I was here before, on this island, but I never met you."

Luke considered that, his eyes moving over the wounds that Wintergreen had left. "If he wanted to kill you, you would be dead by now."

"I still have use to him, as leverage."

"I don't know about any of that. We don't get paid to know what's going on here, just to be the muscle when Fyers needs us. Whatever he wants from you, you should just give it to him."

"I can't."

Silence.

Oliver wondered just how human his former captive was.

"Let me out, please."

"I can't," Luke responded shortly, seriously, and then his eyes cut back to the ground. He murmured, "Thank you for… letting me live."

He left.


	26. The Right Side

**Chapter 26.**

 **The Right Side.**

Oliver lost track of time because the tent was always dark, but he knew the chance to take the supply plane had long passed. It had to be at least the following evening. He was plagued with thoughts of being left behind, wondering how he might feel about it if he found himself on this island alone. His thoughts never strayed to death, no matter how damp the sand beneath his feet became. Some part of him was sure he was going to live, no matter the cost. It was always like that. Oliver was not the man who died, he was the man who lost the people he never wanted to live without – so he saw their faces: Sara, Robert, Slade, Yao Fei, Shado. He felt their lives hanging in the balance. He wondered who he was going to lose, what his mistakes would cost him.

And it was not just the torture that made him weak, made him sick. Something was wrong. It was like his soul was rebelling against the changing timelines. It was like being in deep, dark water, feeling the pressure bearing down, but having no way to escape, no way to surface.

 _You have to go back_. _You told me you could do better_.

Billy Wintergreen visited infrequently, resigned to get nothing from him in this state, only coming to check that he was still alive. He heard Fyers outside the tent, talking to Wintergreen, "Let him die if he's going to die. No point in trying to speed the process along. I have no interest in wasting more resources keeping him alive. We need to focus on breaking Yao Fei, and for that I need you to find his daughter. Scour the island."

His words were water.

Oliver drifted for hours after he heard their conversation, and no one came to see him for a while. His chance to leave the island had certainly passed by now. His thoughts shifted to home – to his _real_ home – and he was forced to wonder if his family would simply cease to exist, or if his actions were creating some kind of alternate version of them. Barry had never explained it very well – he had only said that thinking about it could easily drive someone insane.

It was dawn when the tent flap jerked open, and then closed again. Oliver was blinded for a moment. The cold plastic edge of a canteen touched his lips.

Luke grabbed him by the jaw and held his head upright, tipping water over his lips. It was rainfall in a desert. Oliver drank until the canteen was empty, groaning when the water hit his empty stomach. How long had he been here?

"I think he gave up on getting you to talk," Luke said. He looked Oliver up and down, grimacing, stepping backward to get out of the wet sand. "You've lost a lot of blood…"

"I know."

Luke said nothing. It was hard to imagine what he might be thinking in the dark. Oliver could only see the edge of his mouth, the scowl that lived there.

"They're waiting for me to die," Oliver said.

Luke said nothing again, standing there, silent as a statue.

"Let me go," Oliver whispered. "Please."

"I can't," Luke responded.

But he stayed there, and more than a minute passed. Oliver let his head drop again, deciding it was not worth the energy to stare at a dark face.

And then, finally, Luke said, "Okay." He walked behind Oliver, rustling around, "I have to find the keys. Do you know where he put the keys?"

Oliver stirred, "Pick the locks." He wiggled his arms, which were suspended above his head with a pair of bloody handcuffs. His wrists and forearms had been numb for a while, but the prospect of being freed woke him up again.

"I don't know how to pick handcuff locks!"

Something moved outside.

Oliver stared at the tent flap, listening intently to the sound of voices, to grunting, to shearing flesh. He heard blades sliding against armor.

And then the flap was cut in half.

Slade Wilson was there, in the harsh light of dawn, with a mercenary caught between his blades. He had him by the neck, holding him up for a moment, and then he drew both his blades back and nearly decapitated him. He charged into the tent, blood spattered, panting, eyes as wild as an animal, and bore his blades at Luke.

"No! Wait!" Oliver said, as Slade lunged, and missed, and Luke dove behind him. "Wait. He was helping me. He was helping me."

Slade growled, "He's the reason you're strung up, kid."

"Just cut me down."

Slade got a good look at him, his eyes sinking down to the red sand. He scowled, "Billy."

"I need the keys," Luke said, motioning to the cuffs.

Slade snorted and slashed out with one of his blades, shearing through the center of the handcuffs. Oliver dropped like a rock, and the armored warrior stooped to catch him, dropping his sword. It was like getting caught by sandpaper. Oliver could suddenly feel his wounds again. Adrenaline raced through his blood. His heart hammered. He slipped out of consciousness for a precious moment while he tried to fight through it.

He was dragged upright, supported roughly on one side.

"You look like shit, kid," Slade grunted.

Oliver smiled, somehow. He felt better with his feet under him again. Slade let off until he was standing on his own; swaying but standing.

"Did you have an escape plan?" Oliver wondered, "Or was 'guns blazing' as far as you got?"

"Shut up and come with me."

Oliver had time to look at Luke, briefly, and wonder if he was really going to free him, before Slade dragged him out of the tent. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up immediately. He was blinded by the dawn, squinting as Slade urged him through the sand. Oliver stumbled over a maze of bodies, some of them missing entire limbs, some of them still clinging to life, groaning, with their chests sheared in half.

Bullets started flying before they made it away from the tents.

Slade dropped Oliver suddenly and Oliver crumpled, unable to catch himself so suddenly.

It was Fyers.

He was coming toward them, a pistol in his hand, firing furiously. His shots burrowed into the sand, ricocheted off of Slade's armor, sometimes missed Oliver by a hair, or less – until the gun clicked. Oliver lurched for the nearest wounded mercenary, firing at Fyers as he fled.

"We gotta go!" Oliver said, turning back, puzzled at the still figure lying in the sand beside him. Oliver got a hand on Slade and shook him, "Slade? Hey!"

His heart lurched and the worst crossed his mind.

"No, no, no, please, Slade, come on!"

Oliver got onto his knees, fighting through a pain like fire in his chest. He shook Slade again and then pressed his fingers desperately to his neck. He grasped for a pulse, waiting, trying to distinguish between the beating of his own heart and the weak throbbing in his friend's neck.

He was alive, but he had been shot.

His leg was spurting fresh blood, painting the sand. It had hit him right below the knee, between two of his armor pads. It was a very lucky shot.

Oliver staggered to his feet, the world spinning around him. He got a hand on Slade's vest and tried to drag him, only moving him a few feet before he had to give up. Slade was too heavy.

"You have to get up" Oliver said, shaking him again. "Come on. Wake up! _Slade_!"

Something moved a few tents over, coming toward them. Oliver heard gunfire on the other side of the camp and people shouting. A distraction? Did that mean Sara was nearby? He drew one of the swords from Slade's back and held it defensively in front of them, waiting for the stray to emerge from the tents – or waiting for Fyers to come out and shoot them both.

But it was Luke.

He came from behind a tent, a gun in his hand.

"Why are you still here?" he hissed.

Oliver only stared at him for a moment, trying to shift his reaction. He just said, "What?"

"You have to get out of here!" Luke said, his eyes shifting to Slade.

"He was shot," Oliver said.

"Come on."

Luke got on his other side and grabbed his vest, and the two of them dragged him together. When they had gone forty feet, nearly to the edge of the beach camp, and the end of the trail of bodies Slade had left on his way in, Slade started to stir.

"I need you on your feet. Come on. Stand up." Oliver wrapped his arms around Slade, guiding him up to his feet, and helping him stay there. "We have to keep moving."

Slade groaned, "Should have left me behind, you… idiot."

Oliver smiled.

XxX

It was past midnight and they should have been asleep.

But tonight was the night.

Oliver could not make himself go to sleep knowing what he had to do.

He sat silently on the couch, watching William hand Mia one block at a time to assemble a tower, only to knock it down again. Just last year William would have been out with his friends at this hour. He would be chasing girls and trying to pass his finals. He would be anywhere but here on a Saturday night. But it was dangerous in the city and most of his friends had left already. Some transferred colleges, and some just vanished without a trace. Oliver knew it wasn't fair for him to live through something like this. He had already had his life disrupted.

Felicity made a point to avoid talking to him. It was like she knew already, like she could sense what he was going to say. She was all smiles for the baby, all pretend.

She gave in, though, and asked, "Can you just say it already?"

William looked up sharply, waiting.

Oliver was quiet for a long time, wondering if he could even answer her. He had been planning it for so long that it seemed like an abstract concept. Months ago they had promised to each other that they could fight this, that they were never going to give in – and that they were never going to be forced apart.

"I need you to leave the city."

She said nothing, and William looked between them. He looked like he wanted to object, but there was also a vein of relief on his face.

Oliver said, "His targets are becoming random."

"We don't know that," Felicity interrupted, rambling, "We don't know how he picks his victims. He could just be picking up the pace, branching out. We just have to let the algorithm work. We just have to-"

"I'm sorry," Oliver cut in. He kept his emotions at bay. "We have no way to stop him. We might have to go to extremes. We might have to do things that put innocent lives at risk. I can't have you here. I can't have William and Mia here."

Felicity sat beside him on the couch, her hand resting against the base of her throat, like it did when she was nervous.

William asked, "For how long?"

"I don't know yet." Oliver hated that the most. He had to send them away, with no guarantee that he would see them again. In truth, they might never meet again.

William might have sensed that, or maybe he just felt the fear radiating from Felicity. He was a smart kid. He looked at Oliver with a painful understanding in his eyes. He was slightly younger now than Oliver had been when he ended up on Lian Yu, and he looked more and more like him every day – it was like staring into a mirror.

Oliver cleared his throat, looking away from his son, and his wife, and focusing instead on his young daughter. Mia was oblivious to their serious conversation. She was happy with her blocks.

"Thea will take you away and keep you safe. Mia will have Sam to play with, and you can transfer your credits to another college, Will."

"I would, if the university was staffed."

Oliver sighed.

William handed his sister another block, "When?"

"Get packed in the morning. Thea will be here by tomorrow evening."

William nodded stiffly and stood up, "I'll be in my room."

"Can you…?" Felicity asked, without finished.

William stooped and took Mia with him.

When it was just the two of them, Felicity sat back against the couch, sinking into it. She crossed her arms, and uncrossed them, and sighed, and held her breath. Oliver waited for her to decide what to say, sitting stiffly beside her and staring out the far window at a city half in darkness.

"I thought we could handle this," she said at last.

He looked at her, finally, and found her face stony. It had been a long time since he had seen a genuine smile on her face. She was usually the optimistic one, the one who believed their team could accomplish anything. But here they were, discussing fleeing their own city, their own home.

"I wish you would come with us," she said.

Oliver sat back with her, shoulder-to-shoulder, and rested his head on the couch. His body ached. "I have to stay here and keep trying to stop him."

"You could just leave with us. We could all leave, and he can just…"

"Keep killing people?"

"I know you want to save people; I know you want to help people, but you don't owe the world your life, Oliver." Her voice was quiet, pressing. She put her hand on his arm. "You didn't create this monster. You tried so hard to stop him."

"You know I can't come."

"I know you _won't_ come." Felicity stared hard at him for a moment, and then rested her head on his shoulder. She shut her eyes. "You know, I had a dream the other day that we took Mia to the park. She was running around, trying to eat bugs, and you were right behind her, prying every little beetle out of her pudgy little hands." She paused for a while, and then, "But that never happened, because we stopped taking her out two months ago, and she only started walking a month ago."

"I wanted you to leave sooner."

"I wanted my daughter to have a father."

Oliver let that statement hang in the air, let it sting. When the Juggernaut showed up, they spent months fighting him, pretending he was just a regular bad guy. Something had to give. But nothing gave. Oliver invested so much of himself in trying to stop the killings. He could have left, but something stuck him here, like a magnet on the streets of Star City. He was supposed to protect this city. He was its guardian, its hero.

He had to see this through.

He had to make a hard decision, maybe the wrong decision.

Oliver kissed her forehead, whispering, "I'll come find you when we win."

He left her there and went to the roof. His conversation was supposed to have happened earlier, and been shorter, but Oliver kept stalling. Now it was the dead of night, and his visitor was sitting on the edge of the roof, yawning.

"Sorry, I lost track of time."

Barry glanced up, "Did you talk to her."

"I did."

"How soon can we start?"

"Thea is picking them up tomorrow night." Oliver sat down beside him, bracing his hands on the damp concrete. It seemed like it had been raining for weeks in Star City. "But, listen, I had another idea, and I don't think you're gonna like it."

"Does this new idea mean we'll have to send them to the other side of the planet? Because I already bought plane tickets for Australia. I'm way ahead of you."

Oliver thought of his family, wishing there were another way, and murmured, "There's nowhere we could send them to get them away from this."

Barry seemed to realize what this was about. He started shaking his head. "I know this has been taking its toll. I know that. I've been here before. I've been _right here_ , trying to make this decision. If we go down that road… this whole fight will have been for nothing. Everything we went through will be for nothing. Mia might not even exist. Our whole lives would change – the lives of everyone on this planet could change. You understand that, right?"

"How many people has the Juggernaut killed already?"

"That's not-"

"How many?"

Barry steeled his jaw. "Hundreds, at least."

"One thousand and sixteen." Oliver looked out over the city – _his_ city – which lay half in the darkness. Sirens went off in the distance. "Most of the city has evacuated; the economy has collapsed. Juggernaut has destabilized this region. We're lucky he stays in this city, because we have no idea how to stop him. If he branched out, if he took on another city, the rest of the world – what would we do? What _could_ we do? The police can't stop him. The military can't stop him. It's not just about Star City, Barry, or your life, or mine."

Barry was looking at the city, too, his brow furrowed. "But there's no guarantee… I mean, we could mess everything up for no reason…"

"We have to try. We're out of options."

"We can think about it, try some of our last-ditch plans."

"When the rest of the citizens move out, what do you think he'll do?" Oliver motioned to the highway, the road that led home for Barry, "He could hit Central City. He could go rogue and terrorize the countryside. We could lose him, and he could start killing anonymously in some other country. We could fail there just as badly as we have here. Or we can try to stop it before it begins."

Barry took a long, deep breath, and then groaned, "I hate time travel."


End file.
